Keep It Like A Secret
by hellospaceboy
Summary: With the battle won, Hogwarts is reopened and Hermione Granger returns, determined to complete her N.E.W.T.s. Everything seems the same but what she doesn't know is that this school year will change her life forever. DMHG.
1. Back In Hogwarts

**Author's Note: **Beginning of a new story! Have deleted the previous two because I fully don't intend to finish them anyway. Am too appalled by the horrendous style of writing I had four years ago. So this is a new start for me.

This basically takes place when Hermione goes back to Hogwarts without Ron and Harry to complete her final year of studies. I'm trying to fit my story in as closely with J.K. Rowling's epilogue as possible, the only changes being the relationship between Draco and Hermione. I'm not going to reveal the ending to you (haven't even figured that out yet) but I'm sure that you'll be able to figure it out yourselves. So besides the relationship between my personal favourite pairing, everything else has been and will be meticulously researched to match up with Rowling's ending.

Hope you'll like it. Read and review, thanks.

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**Chapter One: **

**Back In Hogwarts**

Stepping off the Hogwarts train, Hermione Granger adjusts her robes, newly bought just three weeks ago from Madam Malkin's, dusting off a speck of imaginary lint. She looks around, drinking in the sights and sounds and smells of Hogsmeade. A beam spreads across her face as she stands alone in the train station, amidst other students rushing to sit with their friends in the Thestral-drawn carriages. It feels good to be back.

"Come on, Hermione! Let's go!" She turns and sees Ginny Weasley excitedly beckoning to her from a carriage. Sitting with her is a heavily scarred Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood, both smiling at her too. "Hurry up!"

If possible, Hermione's smile grows larger. She turns and runs towards the carriage, trying to avoid bumping into as many students as possible.

"Oof!" The swish of a heavy black coat and an annoyed grunt sends her landing hard on her bottom. She apologises as her eyes are still trained on the floor, looking for her wand that has fallen out of her coat. "I'm so sorry, I was-"

"Here." She looks up and sees a long slender hand being offered. Towering above her, his flaxen hair glowing even in the dusk of the evening, is Draco Malfoy. Old memories rush in, causing her head to pound rather painfully. She stares at his expressionless face, and then at his proffered hand.

"Do you want to get up or not?" A note of impatience is disguised by his even tone. His eyes, a cold grey, studiously avoid hers. Instead, he takes to staring at a point a little left of her nose.

She grabs his hand and he swiftly pulls her up. A moment of silence passes between them as students push past them and she notices that he's staring at her robes. Looking down, she spots a patch of grey dust, probably contracted when she'd fallen down, and hurriedly brushes it off.

"Yours." In his right hand holds her wand, vine wood with a dragon heartstring core.

"Thanks," she replies as she takes her wand back, her hand brushing against his cool skin. "And thanks for … helping me up too," she adds hastily, a slow blush creeping up her neck.

The two stare at each other for a little while, both old enemies in a past that seems so distant. Hermione knows that he's changed, but still can't help but feel a slight trepidation around him. Too much has happened between the both of them, and he knows it too. The sound of a bell ringing interrupts the brief and awkward reunion.

"Better catch the carriages then," he quietly says before abruptly turning around and striding towards the nearest carriage, in which sits a subdued Pansy Parkinson talking in hushed whispers to Daphne Greengrass and Blaise Zabini. Hermione watches as he climbs up the carriage and seats himself beside the haughty-looking Zabini, who narrows his eyes at her before engaging in conversation with the blond boy.

"Hermione, come on!" Ginny calls for her again, this time with a hint of urgency. Her brown eyes tear themselves away from the carriage bearing the four Slytherins as she hurries over, hopping on just as the Thestrals start moving.

She can see the Thestrals now, having seen death occur before her very eyes in the war. Their leathery wings, folded by their sides. Their skeletal bodies. Their dragonish faces and long necks. As the Thestral pulls the carriage out of the station, faces flit across her mind's eye. Lupin. Tonks. Fred. Mad-Eye. Snape. All those perished in the war.

"It's pretty creepy, don't you think?" Ginny whispers, not wanting to be heard.

"I think they're quite pretty," Luna replies dreamily while burying her nose in a thick hardcover book.

Hermione smiles absently. She looks at her three companions; the only three who've decided to come back to Hogwarts after the war to complete their studies. She knows that she wouldn't care if she had to go back to Hogwarts alone to complete her N.E.W.T.S but secretly, she was glad for the company.

The gates of Hogwarts are in view now. Her heart is thudding hard against her ribcage; she's unable to contain her excitement. For the second time in the dark evening, she grins.

It does feel so good to be back.

--

In the Great Hall, the level of noise is slightly lower than previous years. Some of the older students proudly bear battle scars on their arms and faces, showing that they'd participated in the war that had occurred less than a year ago within these very walls. Hogwarts still looks the same, both inside and outside. The Ministry of Magic, under Kingsley Shacklebolt, was swift in the magical reparations of the school. It was, in his opinion, imperative to continue in the education and honing of young wizards and witches alike.

The Sorting ceremony, presided over by Horace Slughorn, has been done with. The new students, seated in little groups at each House table, all bear the same air of anxiety and nervousness as they chat with one another, exchanging information and silently evaluating their fellow newcomers.

While the moods of the other House tables are relatively chipper, the atmosphere surrounding the Slytherin table is generally somber. There are the few younger students who are chatting and laughing quietly but otherwise, conversations are held in low murmurs. Particularly for the older students, who are seated in distinct little groups, all of whom sport similar solemn expressions.

In the midst of a debate about the magical properties of the Alihotsy leaves, Hermione steals a glance at the unusually grave Slytherin table. Sitting in the middle of the row facing hers is Draco Malfoy, staring intently at the empty plate before him and not speaking to anyone. Blaise Zabini, on his left, is deep in discussion with a burly sixth year that Hermione recognises as a Quidditch player for the Slytherin team that had played Gryffindor in their sixth year. Something strikes her as odd, and she realises that even though Malfoy seems to pose no harm, the Slytherins are consciously avoiding him.

"Hermione? Hermione, are you there?" Neville's voice jerks her from her thoughts.

"Yes, yes Neville, I'm sorry."

"Are you okay?" He looks at her with concern. "Is there something wrong? Do you want me to call someone?"

Quickly, she smiles to cover up for her wandering thoughts. "I'm fine, really." Neville's face lightens up considerably, but she can still detect hints of disbelief so she promptly changes the topic. "I agree with your argument that eating the Alihotsy leaves aren't good since it causes hysteria, but have you thought about other uses? For example, it's not proven yet but apparently wizards are claiming that boiling the leaves will aid in … …"

Neville lets out a small sigh of relief. This is the Hermione he knows and remembers.

--

Nobody else may understand why most of the Slytherins are giving such a wide berth to him, but Draco knows why everybody is leaving him alone. They think him a traitor to the now vanquished Dark Lord, because of his parents' actions during the war. However he couldn't care less about what they thought of him, about what anybody thought of him. He's just here to satisfy his mother, who was adamant in having him complete the N.E.W.T.S. Nothing else mattered more than getting the school year over and done with.

Still, he's glad for Blaise. With Goyle sent to Azkaban along with his father and Crabbe dead, he finds no reason to dumb himself down any longer. Blaise, though they were never really tight-knit, is the closest Draco has to a fellow intellect.

"Apparently the word around is that your parents are thinking of moving because of _threats_ bombarding your house," Blaise tells Draco in an undertone.

He snorts. "What rubbish."

"That's just what I overhear," Blaise smirks.

Draco rolls his eyes in reply. He has been through too much to even be slightly ruffled by the numerous rumours flying around the Hogwarts' grapevine. Zabini is smart enough to be able to distinguish between fact and fiction. Maybe not so much for Pansy and Daphne, but it's not as though he trusts them in the slightest anyway.

"Ahem." A small cough silences the entire Hall. All eyes are on Headmistress McGonagall, who is standing in the middle behind the long teachers' table.

"Welcome back," her voice is cuts through the air clearly and reaches all students easily. "The start of a new year, and also the start of a new and bright beginning." Some Gryffindor students start to cheer but are immediately quelled by one of her sharp looks.

"A bright beginning that, I hope, will begin in Hogwarts as well. The past year has seen us uniting against evil and rightly so, the good has triumphed. Each and every single one of you, no matter what House, is testament to the victory of light over darkness." At this, Draco notices several pairs of eyes flicking over to the Slytherin table, to him. Ignoring them, he continues staring at his empty plate, listening to McGonagall.

"I warmly welcome all those who've decided to return to complete their studies and those who've decided to embark on a journey that will surely change their lives for the better. Despite all that has happened, Hogwarts remains the same and will do so for a long time."

Some of the teachers begin to clap, followed by a few Gryffindors. Soon, the entire Hall is clapping and cheering. Even the Slytherins, normally scornful of such House unity, joins in. It appears to Draco that he and Zabini are the only ones not cheering along.

McGonagall discreetly wipes a tear. "Now, on to more administrative matters. As usual, Mr. Filch has requested a blanket ban over all items from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and 348 items from Zonko's Joke Shop. The list will be on his door, so please have a look when you can. Also, we have a new addition to our teaching staff …"

Draco tunes out, not caring who the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher is. He begins to fiddle with his fork, twisting and turning and watching it shine under the bright candlelit ceiling.

"Draco," Pansy turns to him and places her hand atop his. "Are you all right?"

He stares at her hand on top of his, gently caressing his knuckles. Slowly, he moves his hand away. "Yes," was his reply. Understanding dawns upon her face as she realises what he'd meant by that simple gesture of pulling away. She'd suspected that it was going to be this way since last year, but to have him confirm it broke her heart. Tears threatened to fall but she willed them back.

"Okay," and she turns back to the Headmistress who is wrapping up.

"… And so, let us eat!" At her last word, foods begin appearing unto the massive plates set in a row down the middle of each House table. The Great Hall erupts into noisy laughter and heavy chomping as the students tuck in, relishing each delicious morsel.

Draco looks up and is greeted by mountains of roasted chicken and pots of stewed beef and many more. The mouthwatering smell wafts up to his nose and even though he knows that he ought to eat, his body is unwilling. Blaise cocks an eyebrow as he elegantly cuts up a piece of chicken on his plate.

"No appetite?"

A long pause, followed by an almost inaudible "I'm not hungry."

"Well," Blaise turns back to his food. "We'll bring some back in case you get hungry later then."

Another long pause. "Yeah, that'd be great."

--

Hermione consumes the dinner in satisfaction, having only eaten a bowl of cereal for breakfast and a measly Chocolate Frog on the train. Beside her, Ginny devours the food with great gusto, irresistibly reminding her of Ronald Weasley.

"What?" Ginny finally notices that Hermione is looking at her amusedly. "You know I don't normally eat like a pig, but I'm so hungry. Mum didn't make much of a breakfast and Ron took most of mine anyway."

"No, I was just thinking about how you remind me of Ron sometimes," Hermione smiles.

"So," Ginny starts on her second serving of sausages. "Ron coming over to visit you soon?"

Hermione shakes her head as she goes back to her dinner. "I don't think so. He's been quite bogged down with the business. Seems like George is making him work really hard."

"Yeah well, what could he expect? Fred did a lot."

A split-second of awkwardness takes place as the two girls remember Fred Weasley, who'd fought so bravely in the war.

"But since we'll probably have a Hogsmeade weekend soon, I think I'll go visit him and George. You want to come?" Hermione briskly skates over the awkward silence.

"Well, it's still a long way to go. Might meet Harry, but then that means we'll end up joining you guys anyway, so sure."

"Great." She beams, then finishes her dinner neatly. The contents of the big common meal plates change and she makes out a large heap of bread and butter pudding. Her favourite. Even though Hermione is full, she reaches out for some dessert and tucks in contentedly.


	2. The Beginning of A New School Year

**Author's Note: **Here's the second chapter. I'm churning them out pretty quickly because it's just inspiration. :) Soon I'll ram into a bad case of writer's block and then you can stone me.

So here's the chapter. I know it's going a little slow but let's be honest, there's no way that a budding friendship between Draco and Hermione, let alone a relationship, would happen so quickly. So I'm taking my time here, establishing a back story and all that. Hope you won't fault me for that. At least this chapter's much longer, almost twice the length of the previous one.

Read and review then! Cheers.

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**Chapter Two: **

**The Beginning of A New School Year**

The moment he steps into the Great Hall with his books in his hand, he senses the level of chattering dip a little as students, upon spotting him, rehash old gossip and rumours overheard during the past school year and summer holidays. Ignoring them, he falls into step with Zabini and makes his way towards the Slytherin table, located between the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables. Blaise saunters with his head held high but Draco, walking along beside the arrogant-looking tall boy, has his head titled slightly downwards, with his eyes trained on the smooth marble ground. He doesn't feel the need to look at anybody, especially since everybody seems to have taken much interest in him.

"Go back to your mummy, Malfoy!" Someone shouts from the Ravenclaw table as the two boys pass it and the Great Hall is silent. All eyes are on him, anticipating a vicious strike back at the smug Ravenclaw sixth-year, who has his arms folded across his chest.

Draco stops in his tracks, then slowly turns to the direction of the stout Ravenclaw. With his head still minimally dipped, he looks up and stares at the sixth-year, presenting an intimidating figure. Blaise, having halted with Draco, stiffens inconspicuously. He knows the golden-haired boy well enough to be aware of his temper. Especially now, when Malfoy has been through and seen too much over the year. He looks on as Draco continues staring daggers at the stocky sixth-year quietly, whose smirk begins to falter and eyes begin to shift rapidly. The silence continues and the tension mounts as every student in the Great Hall seemingly holds his or her breath, waiting anxiously for a hex or a jinx to be flying toward the loudmouthed Ravenclaw.

Without saying a word, Draco reduces the bulky sixth-year into a sweating mass of flesh and bones. Abruptly, he turns and walks on towards his House table. He seats himself down at the far end of the large table and even though they weren't near him to begin with, Slytherin students, both young and old, make no secret that they're steering clear of him.

Blaise, still standing in front of the Ravenclaw table, smirks at the red-faced, sputtering boy and cocks an eyebrow, causing a few Ravenclaw girls to sigh in contentment. Following Draco's footsteps, the noise level gradually returns to its boisterousness as he slides in beside the lone figure and picks up a piece of bacon from one of the common meal plates. Crunching on it, he looks around and notices all the Slytherins around them conscientiously avoiding looking at them. Instead, there're quick flickers and stolen glances directed at the two boys, one munching on a piece of bacon and the other, leisurely spreading butter on a piece of toast.

Nobody, not even the Slytherins, seem to want to have anything to do with them. Which is perfectly fine. Draco can't be bothered in the slightest and Blaise, being richer and better looking than most, holds himself in higher standing anyway.

"Did you eat anything last night?" Blaise inquires, referring to Draco's loss of appetite the night before.

"Didn't feel like it," was the short reply. Sighing audibly, Blaise picks up a bread roll, tears it open and spreads strawberry jam in between the folds.

"What?" Draco frowns irritably.

"To starve yourself to death is extremely passé, Malfoy. If you want to kill yourself, there are other, more tasteful ways to go about doing it," Blaise adds in his low baritone voice.

He looks up from his half eaten piece of toast and sees Zabini smirking good-naturedly. A light chuckle escapes his lips and he turns back to his breakfast. "You of all people should know that I am above such doltishness."

Zabini shrugs in return. The sound of vigorous flapping catches their attention as they look up and are greeted by hundreds of owls, varying in size and shape, flying through the windows and landing rather ungracefully unto jugs of pumpkin juice or pots of tea and coffee.

A large handsome eagle owl lands neatly in front of Draco, with a letter addressed to him in his mother's sophisticated script clipped in its beak. He accepts the letter, then feeds a bit of kipper to the owl. Eating it off his hand, the sizable owl then spreads its wings and departs, presumably to the Owlery for a rest before heading back to Malfoy Manor. Draco lifts the cream-coloured envelope up to his nose and breathes in the smell of the expensive paper, mingled with his mother's perfume. The scent makes him think of home and of his parents.

He turns it over and opens it, taking out a long piece of parchment folded into three parts, covered in his mother's polished handwriting.

_To our dearest Draco,_

_We trust that you're doing all right. All's fine at home. Your father has insisted on tearing down the main library and the dining hall and rebuilding new ones, his attempt at doing away with the past. This will be a nice little project for me, to redecorate the new rooms. I've also suggested removing the dungeons as well, since we no longer have any need for them. Your father was quite flustered at my recommendation, but he has since accepted it._

_Now as you already know, Harry Potter, along with Kingsley Shacklebolt, are in the midst of eradicating all remaining Death Eaters. They've asked for our assistance and after giving it some thought, we've agreed. If not to lend a helping hand, then it is to clear our conscience and family name. Don't you worry about anything; your father and I are adults and will be able to take care of ourselves. It will consist of nothing more than occasional trips overseas, that's all._

_Your father would like you to know that despite all that has happened, he still expects top marks in your N.E.W.T.s. Now, you know me, I'll be happy as long as you are. I know that you weren't all that thrilled about having to return to Hogwarts and probably still are a little mad, but please do this for me. Education is important and besides, my wanting you to go back to Hogwarts is my way of hoping that you will forget all that has happened. I cannot expect you to revert to your younger self, but I can only hope. _

_Draco, perhaps it is time to let go and move on. Your father and I certainly have. It hasn't been the easiest of roads but we've been trying, and our efforts are being slowly acknowledged. We wish the same for you, that you will allow people to see the compassionate side of you. I know that it will be difficult, but do you not think that the recent events have done more than simply change the world? It has changed us, Draco, and I hope that this change will reach your heart as well._

_Know that your father and I are extremely proud of you. And we hope that one day, you will be proud of us as well._

_Love,  
Mother_

He stares at the letter, his heart a little heavier than it already was before. It's not as though his mother had written anything to upset him. It's just that at that point, he's never missed his parents as much before.

"We've got Advanced Potions now," Blaise reminds him as he tucks his own letter beneath the folds of his robe and prepares to get up.

Draco looks over at Blaise and gives a curt nod, sliding the letter back into the envelope and slotting it between the pages of his Potions text. "Let's go."

--

To say that Hermione is confused would be an understatement. After witnessing the hushed confrontation between Malfoy and the Ravenclaw sixth-year, her brain has simply been buzzing with unanswered questions. Malfoy was obviously provoked so she could excuse him if he did something rash. But to do nothing? It was completely out of character.

"What do you think that was about?" Ginny whispered over to her.

The brunette shrugged and gave a slight shake of her head. "I don't know, but Malfoy's been a little strange lately."

"You mean like yesterday?"

Hermione took a while to reply as she replayed the incident over in her head. "Yeah, like yesterday. He was perfectly civil yet … I don't know." She thought of his expressionless face and shuttered silver eyes. "It's like something in him has died."

"Have you heard what people are saying about him? That his parents are thinking of moving because of all the Death Eater threats," the Weasley girl asks as she gulps down half a goblet of pumpkin juice.

"Oh Gin, you should know that I don't care about these rumours. It's all nonsense."

"Yeah, I guess. But stil-"

The entrance of owls through the windows interrupts Ginny. Hermione looks up, and spies a small Scops owl aiming straight at them. It doesn't seem to be flapping its wings, could it be – THUD! Pigwidgeon lands right on Ginny's half-filled goblet of pumpkin juice, causing it to topple and spill pumpkin juice all over the table. Hermione hurriedly siphons the growing puddle with her wand before it could reach her books as Ginny gently picks Pigwidgeon up and removes the two tightly-rolled scrolls of parchments tied to its left leg.

"Stupid Ron. He knows that Pig's so small and he still sends two letters with him," she grumbles as she carefully wakes the small owl up and feeds it some fish and water. "Here's yours," as she hands Hermione a rather thick roll of parchment, magically sealed.

The dark-haired girl turns the tightly furled parchment around and recognises Ron and Harry's untidy scrawls. '_To Hermione. We miss you!_' Smiling, she straightens up the parchment and begins to read, used to their chicken scratch writing long ago.

_Dear Hermione, _

_How's Hogwarts? Still the same as before? Haven't had the chance to visit yet because I've been quite busy with Kingsley, as you already know. The trips have been quite tiring but we're safe. Every lead we get and investigate, I'm followed by at least two Aurors, both of whom are nice enough but it's just not the same as running around with you and Ron._

_We've just captured Rodolphus Lestrange so he's going on trial next week. When we'd found him, he tried to put up a fight but nothing bad happened. I think he's gone insane because of their loss and the fact that Bellatrix is dead as well. On the way to Azkaban, he kept muttering her name under his breath. I actually felt pretty sorry for him … to be reduced to such a state._

_Progress has been considerably slower but it's still there, so everyone's happy. Kingsley's requested the help of the Malfoys to aid in our search and they've agreed, so that's definitely going to be a boost. Nobody seems to want to say it but I know everyone's still a little jumpy about them. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't either. But then Narcissa helped me, and I believe that they'll do anything for the safety of their family. Helping us will benefit them too, since I don't suppose that they're held in high regards anymore amongst the Death Eaters._

_There have been rumours of a Death Eater gathering in Albania to appoint a new leader. If that's true, we'll be there to stop it. But if you ask me, I highly doubt it. At this point, most of the more competent ones have already been put to prison. But yeah, I can almost hear you telling me that there's no harm being alert anyway. (I know you too well!)_

_Right. I'm going to pass the parchment over to Ron now, he's been whinging about me taking too long with your letter. Am going to write Ginny's one now. All this writing is giving me a real ache in my hand, I'll tell you that. Haven't written so much in such a long time!_

_Missing you,  
Harry_

_Hi Hermione,_

_How have you been? Hope you're doing all right. Stupid Harry took so long with the letter that I've only got a few minutes to write before sending this off with Pig._

_Still can't believe that you've decided to go back to Hogwarts. What for? In my opinion, Kingsley offered you a good job. And you can still stay with __me__ us any time you want. But okay okay, it's your decision. I guess I just miss you a lot. It's strange not seeing you after having spent so much time with you over the summer._

_Harry's trying to read over my shoulder to get inspiration for his letter for Ginny. What a sick man._

_Business has been good. George is really working hard, makes my hard work seem like nothing compared to his. I talked to Dad about it, and Dad thinks that George is just trying to forget about Fred. I'm a little worried but if this is the way George can move on, then so be it. I'll just continue being overworked and underpaid ha ha ha!_

_As you know, George and I have already bought a shop at Hogsmeade, so we're in the midst of setting it up, hiring employees, stuff like that. I used to think it was fun to own your own business but it's still really tough work. When's your next Hogsmeade visit? Write me the date so I'll know when to be there to meet you. I'd like to see you. And I can bring you around too, some new shops have opened in Hogsmeade and there's this bookstore that I know you'll love._

_All right, I have to send your letter now. Harry's smiling over whatever he's writing to Ginny and it's making me sick. Thank Merlin we're not like that._

_Write me soon!_

_Love always,  
Ron_

With a big grin on her face, she folds the parchment neatly into half and puts it in her school bag. She turns over to Ginny, who is giggling at Harry's letter to her. '_Thank Merlin we're not like that,_' she recalls Ron's words as she looks at the younger girl. Students begin to leave the Hall for their first class, and Hermione is instantly reminded of her first lesson – Advanced Potions with Slughorn. She grabs her bag and stands up. "Ginny, don't be late for your class."

"Yeah yeah," she replies as she folds Harry's letter into her bag and gets off her seat. "So what did Ron write you?" She asks with a sly grin.

Hermione can almost feel herself starting to blush so she keeps her head down as the two girls walk out of the Great Hall. "Nothing much, just telling me about the business and George. Oh!" She whips her head up. "Did they tell you that they've already bought a space in Hogsmeade?"

"Really?" Ginny's eyes widen in excitement. "That's great! Now we'll be able to see all of them without going to much trouble."

"Yeah," Hermione replies. "Anyway, I've got to go to the dungeons for Potions. I'll see you later or something."

"Right. Bye!" Ginny waves a short goodbye before flying up the stairs, running off to her Transfiguration class. Hermione looks down at the path leading to the dungeons, students milling about going to their classes. She grabs the handle of her bag and shifts it on her shoulder. Her eyes sparkle with anticipation as she walks down to Slughorn's classroom. Her heart skips a beat as she walks past groups of students, most of them shouting out greetings to her. School has officially started, and she simply can't wait.

--

In the Potions dungeons, now brighter because of Slughorn's cheery influence, sits just a few seventh years. All the students who've returned to Hogwarts have chosen to retake their previous year, having missed the exams because of the final war, so only the first year of each House has twice the normal number of students, graciously accommodated by enlarged classrooms and first year dorms.

Draco reclines on his chair, leaning against the table behind him, not caring if he's going to be blocking whoever chooses to sit there. He highly doubts anyone would choose to sit near him though. With the exception of Zabini, the rest of his classmates have chosen seats at the adjacent set of tables.

He takes a quick look around. There's that Hufflepuff MacMillan, whom he never liked. Then there're some smatterings of Ravenclaws – Michael Corner, Terry Boot, Padma Patil, Lisa Turpin and Anthony Goldstein. His lips curled into a little sneer. Too many Ravenclaws in a class makes for utterly dull lessons.

"Look who's here," Blaise directs Draco's attention towards the door in a low murmur. "It's Granger."

Draco turns and gazes at the lone Gryffindor, who'd just walked into class. He watches as her eyes, the colour of chestnut, twinkle as they roam the dungeon. She walks over to Macmillan and settles beside him, placing her heavy bag unto the table. Her hair, tied smartly into a plait, falls down her back, curling gently at the ends. He observes her as she takes the thick Advanced Potions text out of her bag and places it in front of her. Her deft fingers assemble her Potions kit, cautiously avoiding careless spillage. He remembers how she, along with Potter and Weasley, saved him and Goyle from the fiery blaze Crabbe had so foolishly started. He remembers waking up to screams and giant spiders and running away from it all. He remembers passing a tapestry and seeing her crying and forcefully wiping her tears away with her singed sleeve, trying to hold the raging Weasley boy back. He remembers the sinking feeling enveloping him as he watches them, as though a weight has been placed on his heart, intent on pulling it down. It's guilt ... and remorse …

"Something that interests you, Malfoy?" Blaise cuts in on his thoughts with a well-placed smirk.

Within a split-second, Draco blinks away the memories and turns to face the front, where Slughorn has just bustled in. "Nothing, Zabini," he replies shortly. "Nothing at all."

"So!" Slughorn claps his hands to rouse the attention of the small class. "Welcome back! I'm very glad to see some familiar faces." With that, he smiles at the single Gryffindor, who returns it pleasantly. "There're just a few of us but that's good, it'll give us more time to work on our potions. This first quarter of the school year, we will be covering potions dealing with the human's emotions. We will go over some that you will no doubt recognise, like the Elixir to Induce Euphoria and the Draught of Peace. And we'll learn some new ones, like various love potions, along with Amortentia, different hate potions and more …"

--

Hermione is enjoying every single second of the class. Granted, Ernie is still as pompous as ever, always offering to carry out the tasks for her instead of just letting her do her work, but he's still a good man. Today's Potions lesson is a rehash of the Draught of Peace, which they'd first learnt about in their fifth year. She adds some hellebore into her cauldron and proceeds to stir it, all the while trying to ignore Ernie's fanfaronade as politely as possible.

"So how's Ron and you?" The question jerks Hermione back to attention as she hears his name being mentioned.

"Uh, good good. We're fine," she replies.

"And Harry and Ginny?" He shoots another question at her with little time for her to process it carefully.

"Good too."

He looks at her for a moment, and then turns back to his cauldron. "I always thought Ginny was a fine looker, but I'm happy that Harry's got her now." A flash of irritancy causes the brown-eyed brunette to frown a little. He talks about Ginny like she's some sort of … property!

"Really?" She absent-mindedly asks after he points at one of the many scars on his right arm, souvenirs from a battle fought not too long ago. "That's amazing."

"You really think so? That's what everybody says, but I don't feel that I should believe them," Ernie fails to notice her lack of attention and ploughs on about how he does not care in the slightest about what anybody thinks of him.

Hermione tries her best to hide her smile as she stirs the contents in her cauldron a few more times. She looks away, not wanting Ernie to catch her grinning at his various overstatements and exaggerations and sees Slughorn fawning over Michael Corner's potion. As she's about to turn her head to the front, she notices a pair of stormy grey eyes staring straight into hers. Malfoy. He's evidently done with his potion, having already packed up his potion-making kit and books into a neat stack next to a small vial of his completed potion. His table is pristine, as is his appearance. The only thing that looks a mess is his pair of eyes, which are boring holes into hers. She swallows nervously and attempts a small smile, recalling his good deed yesterday evening.

To her surprise, he smiles back. It's a small one, tinged with sadness and loss and pain. And as quickly as the smile came, it was wiped off his face as Blaise Zabini turns to him. His eyes leave hers and flicker over to his friend, and she notices that once again, they revert to the normal cool silver grey. She can barely hear their short exchange, but continues to watch them, to watch the one with the carefully styled golden hair.

"Miss Granger! And what do you have for me, my dear?" Slughorn appears in front of her and peers into her cauldron. "Excellent, excellent work!" He beams at her. "I see the year off has done nothing to deter you from topping the class once again. Ten points for Gryffindor!"

Hermione smiles her thanks, then proceeds to some of her potion into a vial for submission before packing up her things. A wave of her wand, a muttered "Evanesco" and her cauldron is clean.

Slughorn makes his way to the front of the dungeon, and calls for everyone to submit their vials. She walks up to his table alone, her vial clutched in her hand. As she places the vial, labelled neatly with her name and year, unto Slughorn's table, she hears a quiet voice behind her, sending shivers up her spine. "Good work, Granger." She whips her head around and finds herself, once again, gazing into the eyes of an amused Draco Malfoy. The expression on her face must've displayed her puzzlement clearly as a ghost of a smile passes his lips. From the corner of her eye, she spies his arm reaching over her and for a moment, her heart stops.

"Relax. I'm just submitting my potion," he replies and his smirk grows. She has never actually been this close to him before, and to see his face stripped of the façade which has carried him through their younger years was … disconcerting.

"Come now, everybody. Let's go. Wouldn't want to be late for your next class on your first day!" Slughorn's booming voice startles her and she jumps. In a split-second, he's striding back to his table, where Blaise Zabini is waiting for him with a curious expression on his rather snobbish face. She's left standing alone in front of the Potions Professor's table, watching as his cloak billows behind him.

"Miss Granger?" She looks up and sees Slughorn curiously looking her. "Time for your next class, I think."

"Yes! I'm so sorry, Professor," she hurries over to her desk, grabs her things and briskly walks out of the dungeon. Her heart is still thudding hard; she can almost hear the pounding. As she steps out and away from the dungeon, the sight of Malfoy and Zabini strolling slowly, deep in conversation, greets her. She pauses in her speedy footsteps and looks at their backs for a moment, wondering.

--

The thing about Draco Malfoy is that he is extremely observant and sensitive to his surroundings. That's the real reason behind his successful verbal taunts of the past. He knows exactly where to hit and exactly how badly it will hurt. That also means that he knows when people are paying attention or not, when people are serious or not, when people are looking or not. So the moment Hermione Granger had spotted him; he could sense it, even though his back was to her. He stops walking abruptly, and slowly turns around to face her. Even from a distance, he can tell that she is blushing madly. Even her ears are tinged a soft red.

Finally noticing that his friend isn't walking beside him, Blaise turns around and sees Draco and Granger staring at each other. Again. He steadily makes his way to Draco and notices Granger's eyes flicker towards him, then back to Draco. A small frown graces his proud features, and he gives his friend a small nudge. "Draco."

It seems to jerk his friend out of a daydream. Draco turns to Blaise and gives him a curt nod, before moving his head back to face Granger. "You ought to be in your next class now," Draco mutters to her in a low voice, and Blaise is struck by the tenderness in his tone. "Don't be late."

With that, he suddenly turns on his heel fluidly and continues walking back to the Entrance Hall. Slightly perturbed, Blaise looks over to Granger and discerns a slight air of embarrassment and confusion about her. He looks at her carefully, his eyes travelling up from her shoes to the very tip of her head. A terse nod towards her direction and he's off, ambling languidly as he manages to catch up with his friend.

And once again, Hermione Granger is left standing alone, bewildered and perplexed by the strange events of the first day of school. And it's only the end of the first class.


	3. The First Weekend

**Chapter Three: **

**The First Weekend**

Hermione dots the 'i' in her name before rolling the long piece of parchment and magically sealing it, placing it next to the other letter that she'd penned just ten minutes ago. She leans back against one of the hard wooden chairs in the library and stretches her back, her arms raised over her head. She yawns, rather ungracefully at that, but she's too much in a pleasant mood to care.

She'd woken up early this morning, too early for a Saturday. Glancing at the clock in the library, she realises that she'd only managed to kill an hour since she'd left her dormitory for the library. It is seven thirty in the morning and from what she can tell, few are awake. She hadn't passed anybody while walking to the library and in the whole hour she was in there, nobody came in.

A small, exasperated huff escapes her lips and a curly lock of her chocolate-brown fringe that somehow always manages to escape her messy hair buns jumps. She examines her surroundings for a while, noting the newly implemented shelving system as the reference section was no longer hidden at the back of the library but is now, instead, flaunted at the front, near Madam Pince's table. She smiles, reminiscing all the times she had spent poring over the reference books, hidden from view in her little corner at the very last aisle.

A long while later, she's still sitting on that uncomfortable chair, staring at the letters that she'd just written. One for Harry, one for Ron. The one for Harry was longer, but the one for Ron contained much more of herself. It's strange how the three of them have come this far. It seems only just yesterday when she was hiding in the toilet, screaming for her life and nearly _this_ close to passing out when the two boys burst in and battled the troll together. It seems only just yesterday when the three of them embarked on a long, perilous journey, ending only in Hogwarts. It was fitting how after all of that, she's here right now, sitting at the table nearest to the entrance, twiddling her thumbs and remembering.

Another quick glance at the clock tells her that only five minutes have elapsed. For the first time in ages, she's feeling … bored. She frowns a little, her brows furrowing together. Perhaps she ought to send the letters to the boys then go through her notes again. Despite having read all her texts at least twice during summer, she still found herself just slightly lost towards the end of her Advanced Ancient Runes class, unable to recall the name of one of the runestones in Sweden. And the fact that her attention was constantly drawn towards Malfoy's sharp eyes throughout the entire double period certainly did not help at all.

'Malfoy …', his name reverberates in her mind as she packs her quill and extra bits of parchment back into her bag. Picking up the two letters, she darts out of the library and almost immediately, fresher air caresses her face like a soft breeze. Making her way towards the Owlery, she can't help but recall the dull grey of his eyes. The week has presented many rather awkward moments, as the two of them happen to be taking similar classes and since the seventh-years' intake has considerably shrunken, she finds herself around him more than usual.

She shakes her head thoughtfully as she slowly climbs up the stairs, taking her time. He's definitely not the same as before, any idiot can see that. Gone are the willful innocence, boastful arrogance and childish notions of before. Even the way he looks at her is different. No longer do his eyes flash with intense dislike or animosity. Now when she catches him looking at her, she notes that the colour of his eyes seems to have faded. Instead of the sharp gunmetal grey that has coloured his eyes in the whole seven years she's known him, it is now a subdued slate, as though even the very life behind his eyes have been stolen from him. Pity mingles with her curiosity, and she finds herself wondering what he's doing at this very moment.

He's probably sleeping. Nobody in his or her right mind will be awake at this ridiculous hour on a Saturday morning.

Which is why she gave a little startled cry when she'd finally reached the Owlery and was greeted by the sight of Draco Malfoy, back to her and elbows on the ledge of the large window, looking out at the lake.

--

Even before she'd cried out her surprise, he had already known that someone was coming up here. He was just born with that innate sense of awareness. Ever since he could remember, he was always able to perceive things quicker than anybody else he knew. His father was extremely proud of that and had hawked his son's unique ability to the Dark Lord at the beginning, hoping to curry enough favour to be trusted once again. Draco clenches his jaw tightly at the memory of it, his father's gaunt face lighting up with eagerness as he nudges Draco to step forward and kneel before the hooded figure, and to pledge unwavering allegiance …

The alarmed intake of breath that had shaken him out of his thoughts was soft but still audible to him. However he continues to remain by the window, resting his elbows and arms on the thick stone ledge. The thought of having to face a fellow student was just simply too unappealing for him to want to make the effort to turn around. Minutes pass, and he finds himself slightly irked by this other presence, lurking within such close proximity. He'd thought that the Owlery would be able to provide some solitude in these early hours but evidently, he was wrong.

"Malfoy?" A girl's voice causes him to prick his ears in attention. That one spoken word is enough for him to be able to guess whom it is standing by the doorway, not coming in. Still, he makes no sign to acknowledge her presence. With his acute sense of hearing, he catches her slow, apprehensive footsteps as she walks into the Owlery. He isn't looking at her, but he can almost see her looking up at the owls, silently beckoning one of the school owls to her. The faint rustle of parchment against parchment tells him that she's probably attaching her letters to the owl's leg. Only when he hears nothing does he turn his head slightly, just enough for him to see her from the side of his eyes. She's calmly stroking the owl, obviously appreciating the magnificent bird's plumage - dark brown and sprinkled with a hint of gold.

"Send this to Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, all right? At The Burrow," he hears her whisper to the owl. Moving slightly to the right of the window, he discreetly watches as she walks up next to him with the bird perched on her right arm. The owl takes off, one of its talons clipping her uncovered arm. Still looking out at the sun's rays bouncing off the reflection of the lake, he hears her inhale sharply. His peripheral vision allows him to detect a thin trail of blood running down the cut and unto her hand. He hears her rummaging through the contents of her bag with her uninjured arm, searching for her wand, then gives an inaudible sigh as he straightens up, reaches into his cloak for his wand and murmurs a spell, watching as the wound stops bleeding and seals itself up. It is only then that he notices that she has stopped digging through her bag. Without looking up at her, he stows his wand back within the folds of his cloak and returns to his original position – facing out the window, arms and elbows on the ledge. He knows that she's staring; he can sense her goggling at him.

"Uh … T-Thanks." Her clumsy attempt at expressing her gratitude causes his lips to quirk into a small and thoroughly amused smirk.

"Not a problem, Granger," he drawls in reply, slightly entertained by her obvious discomfit.

It's quiet for a while, before she speaks again, this time slowly so she wouldn't stutter. "I … I seem to be … thanking you a lot these days."

He tilts his head a little towards her direction and she can see his pale lips curved slightly upwards. "And does that unsettle you?"

"No," was her immediate response. Seconds later, "yes, but just a little."

"Ah."

They fall into a still quietness again, and he takes note of the fact that she is not as awkward as he'd thought she'd be in the hushed silence. In fact, once sure that he isn't going to chase her away, she drops her bag on to the floor between them and leans against the ridge of the window as well, mimicking his position. They stay that way as minutes tick by, both soundlessly observing the light reflected off the lake.

"I heard about your parents."

"Did you?"

"Yeah … I- Uh … Thanks."

He chuckles gently. "There you go, with your thanks again."

The ash blond boy feels heat emanating off of her in waves, and knows that she is blushing. Something which a younger he would've pounced on and mocked about, now he ignores it and graciously allows her embarrassment pass.

"Well … I wasn't sure of what to say."

Another soft laugh. "Never thought I'd see the day Hermione Granger would be rendered inarticulate." He glances at her to show his amusement.

She gives a short chortle and raises her hand to brush away her wayward curls that had been provoked out of the hair bun by the wind. He is aware of her burning curiosity, spilling over from her and making it known to him. While the tension has lightened considerably, the questions are still buried underneath.

"I don't understand something though."

He nods, signalling his approval for her to continue.

"I … don't mean to offend you or anything, but … why?"

He knows exactly what she's asking about, and she knows that she needn't press any further. Looking out at the horizon, he clasps his hands together and takes in a deep breath.

"My parents, despite all that you've heard of them, only have the family's interests at heart." A short reply that will undoubtedly bring forth torrents of other inquiries, he smirks again as he feels her shifting about, not knowing whether to ask more. "Do you accept that?"

Moments later, she replies. "Yes."

If he had to be honest with himself, he did not expect her to embrace his inadequate answer so easily. He waits for a while, anticipating a barrage of questions. Yet the silence remains, and he realises that he is not as uncomfortable around her as he'd thought he would be. Languorous flapping of wings can be heard as owls fly in and out of the Owlery over their heads.

He stares out at the deep green foliage of the Forbidden Forest, his mind wandering back to the aftermath of the battle. Recalling the quiet moments shared within his family as the three of them sat in the Great Hall, left alone by everyone else. Reliving the dread that they now have no place in this new world. Recollecting the slow but nevertheless, upwards climb to normalcy.

And now this.

Draco Malfoy may have been somewhat idealistic in his younger days, but the past year or so has proven to him that the ideal world indoctrinated to him was not all that it was made out to be. And he is fully aware of the fact that things in Hogwarts will never be the same again. No longer the superior of Slytherins, he has now become an outcast of those he used to lead and those he used to deride. He'd arrived in Hogwarts with full acceptance and indifference of his newly relegated status and while that suits him perfectly fine, he's still grateful to Blaise for seeing past the rumours and hearsay.

And now this.

He'd expected a lot of things, but he'd certainly never expected to find himself alone in the Owlery with Hermione Granger, sharing a comfortable silence. While it isn't shocking in any way, it still is rather surprising.

She lets out a long sigh and he glances at her, taking in her wistful expression of nostalgia.

--

"You miss them."

He positions it more as a statement than a question. She briefly looks at his profile as he continues to stare out at the grounds. What struck her was the subtle resignation etched in his features, as though interwoven with his eyes, his sharp nose, his lips, his high cheekbones.

She nods and knows that he'll sense it even though he's not looking directly at her. This much she understands, that Draco Malfoy has a natural instinct for catching what others may dismiss.

"It's just … it's different."

Slowly, he nods. In agreement or acknowledgement, she doesn't know. Turning back to the view of the sprawling grounds again, she notices that small groups of students have been trickling unto the yards and yards of greenery which all make up the extensive land that is Hogwarts. The sun is shining brightly and most of the students, all resembling ants from her point of view, gather in small groups under the shadows of tall trees dotting the otherwise flat landscape. She looks around the Owlery for a clock, but to no avail. Just how long has she been here?

"Close to an hour," he answers, perturbing her.

Her disconcertment must be quite evident as she watches, from the side of her vision, another smirk growing on his face.

"Did I … Was that out loud?"

"No, Granger," he closes his eyes as a tender breeze strokes their cool faces. "You're just too easy to read."

"And you?"

Her simple question swerves straight into his heart. Images of his father from before reprimanding him and the Dark Lord staring down at him and his mother crying and Aunt Bellatrix's fiery eyes, so full of hatred, all flit across his mind's eye. He struggles inwardly to remain impassive, reminding himself over and over again that she does not know anything. And she never will.

"Ever since I was little, I was taught to keep my emotions hidden from plain sight," he replies smoothly.

Another pause as she endeavours to put as much meaning behind her next question. "Is it difficult?"

A short puff of wind gusts through the window, catching her in surprise. Her hands fly up, trying to contain her wild brown tresses that seem to have a life of their own. And yet his bottle-blond hair, falling down over his forehead and partially covering his eyes, moves only a little. As she gathers her hair up to tie it into a knot, he breaks the silence.

"Difficult?"

She almost hardly hears him.

"I wouldn't say it's arduous. But it is exhausting."

"Then … Then why do you do it?"

"Because I wasn't taught any other way," he responds softly, his eyes suddenly betraying his true fatigue. Upon witnessing the sudden and only display of emotion of his in all the years she's known him, she feels strangely compelled to mother him, to gather him up in her arms and take care of him, to console him. Nobody deserves such pain.

"I don't want your pity, Granger," he gently tells her. "I've done too much to warrant sympathy or compassion of any sort."

"I don't believe that," she staunchly disagrees, shaking her head so vehemently that some of her umber curls fall out of place and tumble alongside her face. "People can change."

A sad smile is thrown at her direction. "Maybe." In a swift, fluid motion, he straightens up and, for the first time in the hour they've been together, faces her fully. His eyes, now normal, almost bored, catch hers. "See you around, Granger." With that, he abruptly turns and walks towards the entrance in long, full strides.

"Malfoy," she calls out as he's about to disappear around the heavy wooden door. He stops and tilts his head slightly towards her, indicating his attention. "I … I hope that one day, you'll come to believe that too."

An instance of hushed quietness falls as he digests her parting words and then with a curt nod, he's gone, leaving no sign of having been there in the first place. She stares after him for a while, then sighs, picks her bag up and proceeds to walk out of the Owlery. Even from the top of the West Tower, she can hear shouts and excited chattering from down below.

--

Upon entering the Gryffindor common room and glancing quickly at the clock above the fireplace, Hermione realises that she'd spent over an hour standing in the Owlery with Malfoy … talking.

She had to admit to herself that the whole thing is extremely bizarre. To have spent over an hour talking to the one boy who, up till recently, had sought to make her life miserable was simply inconceivable.

Slowly, she makes her way up to her dormitory. No other Gryffindor seventh-year came back except for her, Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan. Hermione had the entire seventh-year girls dormitory all to herself. Flinging her bag unto her bed, she looks sadly at the other two empty and neatly made beds. Though she was never close to Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, she still misses them. The dormitory is strangely quiet without their constant gossiping that, sometimes, would even be about her.

It had originally started out as her and Harry, paired up together. She supposes it makes sense. The Boy Who Lived and his ever-dependent best friend. Then in their fourth year, it was about Viktor Krum and her. And then in their fifth, Cormac McLaggen. She makes a face upon recalling her extremely brief relationship with him. His wet lips as they'd descended upon hers, the way she'd quickly turned to her side so that his lips would meet only her cheek, his sweaty palms, the way he would boast about everything and nothing. A quick shudder runs down her spine.

Then in their sixth, after a period during which Lavender completely ignored her, it was about Ron and her.

Ron. She smiles at the very thought of him. After winning the war, the survivors had stayed in Hogwarts to recover, during which Ron and her finally had a long talk about their relationship. He'd gone to Australia with her to find her parents and it was on the trip that they'd finally made things official, even though he constantly tells her that he was hers for the keeping a long time ago.

The insistent growling of her stomach cuts in on her reminiscing. She grabs her Advanced Ancient Runes notes and walks out of the still dormitory, making her way down to the Great Hall. Not even something like hunger is going to stop her from studying.

--

Draco is sitting at the far end of the Slytherin table alone, unhurriedly spreading butter unto a warm piece of toast. The only student sitting within two arms' length is his fellow seventh-year Theodore Nott, a weedy loner whom Draco never had the interest to talk to. A thick tome is placed between him and Nott on the table, further reading on a topic that has greatly interested him for some time. All the other Slytherin students nod at the flaxen-haired boy as they pass, but he is indifferent to their greetings and subsequent gossip. Sneers disguised as welcoming smiles; he has no interest in that at all.

The tall black boy elegantly slides into the empty seat next to him, grabbing a piece of toast as he does so.

"Good morning."

Draco nods in return, still chewing on his bread.

Blaise reaches out into a small dish of jam with his knife then generously spreads it over his nicely brown toasted slice of bread. "So where were you?"

A few last chews, then a deep swallow. "Went out for a walk."

"And where, may I ask, did you walk?" Blaise smoothly counters the brusque reply with another question. "And don't tell me the library, because I'd checked."

A streak of brown catches his eye and Draco discreetly looks up, watching as the chestnut-haired Muggleborn sits besides two other Gryffindor seventh-year boys. "Owlery," he replies in a clipped tone. He is in no mood for a conversation now, not when he'd exhausted all of that this morning.

"Ah," Blaise responds as his line of vision follows where Draco is looking, the gears in his head working fast. Comprehension dawns on him. "With a certain Muggleborn, I presume?"

His last remark ignored as Draco rips another bite off his piece of toast, and Blaise smirks. The pair eats in silence for a while as Blaise pulls Draco's book over and flips through it nonchalantly. Though he may be as smart as the pale lean boy, he has never understood why people choose to put so much effort into their studies. In his opinion, there are far better things to accomplish.

"It's not that I like her," Draco ladles some porridge into his bowl. "I don't."

Blaise cocks an eyebrow. Whoever mentioned anything about liking the Muggleborn? But he wisely remains silent and waits for his friend to continue.

"It's just … There is an inexplicable pull and … I don't know," he finishes with a frustrated sigh.

Blaise chews thoughtfully before carefully phrasing his response. "This may be attributed to the past year, do you not think so?"

Draco chances a quick glance at her again, one that went unmissed by the observant eyes of Blaise Zabini. "Possibly."

"Perhaps you should talk to her."

His pointed features gather into a slight frown. "And what good will that do?"

"Set your mind at ease. Relieve the guilt. Search for repentance. You know, insignificant things like that," Blaise lazily replies before downing a goblet full of pumpkin juice.

Draco opens his mouth to reply but Harper, a burly sixth-year who had substituted on the Slytherin Quidditch team before, interrupts him. "Uh … hi Draco. Blaise."

A long drawn out silence follows. Draco turns back to his bowl of porridge, taking his time to spoon each bit into his mouth.

"Spit it out, Harper," Blaise idly instructs. "Or get lost."

The sixth-year gulps and addresses Draco. "I … See, I've been appointed to be this year's Slytherin Qudditch captain and I was just wondering if … you'd like to be … Seeker again." Another nervous gulp. "You are, after all, the best in the entire House."

Draco appears to give it some thought, abandoning his porridge for a moment as he turns his head to look at Harper. A look of uninterested disdain finally settles in his eyes. "No thank you. I've got more important things to deal with this year."

"Right. Well if you do change your mind ... we'll b-"

"I won't." There is a tone of finality in his clipped reply, and Harper takes it as his cue to leave.

"No Quidditch?" Blaise raises his eyebrows in query when the sixth-year is no longer within hearing distance. "If I recall correctly, you did love taking out your frustrations on those poor Hufflepuffs."

"Things change," Draco replies tersely. "My priorities are no longer what they used to be."

"I can see that," Blaise nods at the tome now set between them and then gives a long sigh.

"Do you have something else to add, Zabini?" Draco snidely questions, irritated at the other male's refusal to let the subject go.

"Actually, I do," Blaise returns in mock illumination. "I'd like to add that in my opinion, you're being too hard on yourself."

"And you know that your opinion matters little to me."

"Of course, of course. It's just how I see it, after all," the slim black boy replies easily, polishing off the last bit of lavishly jam-spread toast.

Draco pushes his half-eaten bowl of porridge away, seizes his book and rises, all in one fluent motion. "I'll be in the library."

Blaise bobs his head absently, giving the impression that he does not care but as Draco Malfoy strides out of the Great Hall, amidst the hushed whispers of students as he passes them. His large heavy lidded eyes follows the slim pale boy's back, and the smallest of frowns dart across his fine features. Truthfully speaking, he likes Malfoy's company and can only hope that whatever low Malfoy is at, he will begin to pull himself out of it. Because the sudden mood swings and snappiness … it almost reminds Blaise of a girl. Smirking at the comparison, he reaches out of a piece of bacon and notices a third-year staring at him from the Ravenclaw House table.

"Take a picture," Blaise languidly startles the undersized boy. "It'll last longer, I promise you that."

The boy, redfaced, quickly swivels on his bottom and backs to his breakfast. Blaise, not caring about the boy's reaction, simply continues chewing on bacon and staring at nothing in particular.

--

One side of the polished solid mahogany library doors is flung open, creating a loud thud that echoes across the extensive room. The vulture-like Madam Pince glares at the fair-skinned boy, his normally carefully styled golden hair ruffled. Extremely indignant of Draco Malfoy's supreme indifference to the noise he'd made, she's about to leave her desk to reprimand him when a small Ravenclaw first-year appears in front of her. "Sorry Madam Pince, but I'd like to check these three books out please."

Her heart softens at the sight of the young boy. She was always rather fond of the Ravenclaws. They study hard and are hardly ever troublemakers. Forgetting about the impertinent young man who'd so tactlessly burst into the library, she lifts the three heavy books off his arms and begins to fawn over him.

--

Draco stalks off to the back of the library, ignoring muted hellos and whispers and settles down on a table far removed from where the other students are seated around. He removes his cloak and folds it neatly, setting it down on the chair next to him. Turning to the book, his long fingers graze the embossed hard front cover, feeling the hard texture of the letters jutting out at him. _Advanced Magic of The Ages. _Flipping through the pages of the weighty book, he finally finds the page he'd last stopped at – page 248, _Introduction to Wandless Magic_ – then folds his arms comfortably on the table and begins to read.

--

Half an hour later, minimal progress has been made. Now on page 249, he frowns as he tries to dispel all thoughts about his earlier conversation with Blaise. He certainly doesn't need Zabini to play conscience with him. If anything, he himself would be the only one who would know exactly what to do. There's no need for interference of any kind.

Draco grunts in annoyance, then shakes his head, as though that alone would be able to aid him in forgetting. Savagely flipping back to page 248, he concentrates on the words before him once again.

_The branch of Wandless magic is extremely obscure, in such a way that even wizards or witches who have taken upon themselves to do extensive research on the topic are not able to fully understand it. Magic carried out wandlessly tends to become uncontrolled and unfocused, leading to weaker results or unpredictable outcomes. However, one thing is for certain. Performing magic without a wand is possible, but the result is highly dependent on the strength and mental ability of the wizard or witch who attempts it._

_Wandless magic has proven itself to be more demanding, both physically and mentally, than performing magic with a wand. Therefore it would be safe to assume that the more difficult the spell, the harder it is to cast wandlessly. Like non-verbal spells (page 78), the wizard or witch would have to devote his or her complete attention to the spell, resulting in more rapid mental exhaustion._

_As Wandless magic is highly strenuous, most prefer to use their wands. Of course, Wandless magic is efficient such that spells would be performed quicker and discreetly. The skill of Wandless magic is highly sought after duelists as it would play as a strength to the wizard or witch, providing them with the element of surprise. But as a general rule, non-offensive spells are much easier to cast without a wand._

--

Fifteen minutes later, Draco slams his hand hard on the table and the echo bounces off the walls of the library. Infuriated with his failure to concentrate, he lays his head on his folded arms and closes his eyes, determined to clear his mind once and for all.

--

Five minutes later, the image of an umber-haired Muggleborn is still floating around in his head. Two boys join her, one who is bespectacled and has a messy black mop of hair boy while the other, fiery red hair and freckles spotting his face.

The image changes into a memory, one that takes place in the darkened drawing room of the Malfoy Manor. Mother, calling him to join her and a dirty, exhausted group of prisoners, caught by that infernal, uncivilised werewolf. Father, pushing him to confirm if the ugly stung boy before him was really Harry Potter. He remembers his own reluctance to even look at the group, and his aching desire to be left alone.

His father's voice resounds in his head. "Draco, if we are the ones who hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, everything will be forgiv …"

He squeezes his eyes tighter at the memory, hoping to shut it all out. His palms are getting sweaty at the mere recollection.

"Well, Draco? Is it? Is it Harry Potter?"

"But look at him carefully, look! Come closer!"

"… Draco, come here, look properly! What do yo-"

"Malfoy?" A small voice cuts in on his heart-wrenching remembrance. He whips his head up, his white-blond hair flying, and sees Hermione Granger standing at the end of the aisle, between two shelves, staring at him curiously. "What're you doing?"

How had he not noticed her? Even from a distance, he can still see the wound on her throat, inflicted by his now deceased aunt just less than a year ago. Its pale beige colour contrasts starkly with the red it was before. The wound had healed over time. He wonders if other wounds, emotional ones, would heal the same way.

"Malfoy," she speaks up louder, catching his full attention this time.

"Are you stalking me, Granger?" He swiftly returns, keen to hide all signs of contrition from her. If he's to let her know, it will be on his own terms.

He watches as a rising blush tints her neck, then her ears and lastly, her cheeks. "No," she manages to counter with as much dignity as she can. "This is where I come to study in private. Have been for the pas-," she stops herself, remembering that she wasn't in school last year. "For six years," she finishes lamely.

"Ah," he replies. "Well then, sit here if you must. I will be leaving soon anyway."

"You don't have to go because of me, you know," she replies as she walks over to his table and sets her bulging schoolbag down. Seating herself opposite him, she continues. "You can stay here if you'll be quiet. I'll … I'll be studying, that's all."

He leans forward curiously, catching a whiff of her sickly sweet strawberry-scented shampoo. A slight smirk curls the ends of his lips. "Studying? But we're in the first week of school, Granger."

She looks at him defiantly, and he's instantly reminded of the faces she'd shoot him after he'd mocked her in their classes. "It doesn't matter which week of school we're in. There're things to be looked over, to be read through." She pauses while taking her books and scrolls of parchment out of her bag. "I just like being thorough."

"Sure you do," he drawls, leaning back against his chair.

Another easy silence materialises between them. As she sorts her Advanced Ancient Runes texts and notes out, his quick eyes take note of the fact that she had not finished the homework set by Professor Babbling. In a flash, the scroll of parchment is being unfurled in his hands. He raises his eyebrows in slight surprise, and is further amused by the expression on her face.

"Give that back, Malfoy," she retorts, sounding more and more like her bossy self.

"I'm surprised you don't know this, Granger," he replies, tossing her homework back to her and lifting his long legs unto the table, crossing them at the ankles.

"It's not that I don't know it," she retaliates, blushing a deep crimson. "I just … haven't had the time to look at it properly yet."

His smirk grows larger as he closes his eyes and clasps his hands behind his head, annoying her. As she realises that he's probably not going to bother replying, she turns her attention back to _The History of Ancient Runes_ and tries to find the information she needs.

"It's the Noleby Runestone, Granger. In Proto-Norse, engraved with Elder Futhark. Discovered in 1894 at the farm of Stora Noleby in Västergötland, one of the twenty five traditional non-administrative provinces of Sweden," he interrupts her rapid reading monotonously. He slightly opens one of his eyes and looks at her. "It's on page 493."

Another bout of silence. He closes his eyes once again, resting his head against his hands. The air in the library is musty and cool, and the tinted glass windows lining the outer wall dull the sun's rays, which are streaming in.

"Thanks."


	4. Betrayal Of His Own Kind

**Author's Note: **And here's the fourth. I sure am churning them out rapidly, at the expense of sleep and all the essays I've to complete. But no matter, because I'm really enjoying writing this story and I hope that you're enjoying it as much too, if not, more. :)

Anyway, I just read through the previous three chapters and I really have to apologise for any typographical/grammatical/punctuational mistakes. I normally am such a perfectionist when it comes to writing but I keep finding myself too eager to post them up so my editing has taken a huge step backwards. And it's just really tiring, you know, rereading the words you've just written. So I hope you won't mind.

Just saw the trailer for the HBP movie and omg, the fangirl in me was screaming like crazy. It looks so good! And young Riddle was so creepy and absolutely perfect.

Well, all right. Will leave you to it then. Thanks for the reviews so far, you guys have been great. Enjoy and review even more! Cheers!

* * *

**Chapter Four:**

**Betrayal Of His Own Kind**

The two once sworn enemies have sat on that same table, in the library, for over three hours. The boy, leaning back against his chair in a relaxed position with his feet crossed on the table and his book on his lap while the girl is hunching low over her numerous books. As he continues reading, his eyes rapidly digesting word after word, she busily scribbles across a long piece of parchment, occasionally punctuated with graphs and diagrams of sorts – an essay for Advanced Transfiguration.

Draco looks up for his book and watches the girl in front of him, now hastily looking through _Theories of Transubstantial Transfiguration_, looking for a fact of some sort. She is muttering under her breath, no doubt repeating what she'd just read to evaluate the importance of it and whether she should include it in her already extensively researched paper. He closes his book with a loud thump, and is unsurprised to see no reaction. So engrossed is she in her work that she has somehow managed to block out the rest of the world.

"Granger. That essay isn't due till next Thursday," he remarks.

Her head jerks up and her facial expression is exactly that which he'd predicted – one of exasperated displeasure. "Just because you'd end up rushing through it on Wednesday evening doesn't mean I'd put myself through that as well."

"And what, may I ask, makes you assume that I haven't started on it yet?"

She lets out a huff of disbelief and rolls her eyes before turning her attention back to her assignment. The piece of parchment is already grazing the ground and she evidently still has more to write. Her infernally unruly hair is beginning to fall out of the knot she'd tied earlier, but she counters this with impatient, irritated brushes. He sees none of that practiced flick that all girls seem to do with their hair. It is clear to him that she doesn't seem to care about impressing or flattering others. Which means that she also doesn't care about what or how people think of her. He should have noticed this earlier. Interlocking his fingers behind his head for support, he takes a deep breath.

"Conjuration is a sub topic of spells under Transfiguration, in which spells are performed to create something out of seemingly nothing. Like Vanishing Spells, the Conjuring Spell calls into question the law of conservation of matter. To perform a spell, the wizard or witch must take into account the present mental and emotional state as these can affect concentration and therefore, one's ability. Also, one must take note of the chemical and magical properties of the object being conjured because not all objects are susceptible to conjuration, which is subject to rules. An example would be the five Principal Exceptions under Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration," he finishes in a monotonous tone, a self-satisfied look on his face.

Slowly, she lifts her head up to look at the fair-skinned boy seated in front of her, a full-fledged smirk plastered on his lips. While her first impulse is to smack the smugness right off his face, she calms the piqued bubbling in her stomach down and realises that this is the first time she has ever had a proper, work-based, intellectual conversation with a fellow student. Because though she loves them both dearly, Harry and Ron were never really able to keep up with her, in terms of schoolwork. So by the time Hermione had made the decision to return to Hogwarts, she had given up all hope in finding someone who could truly verbally spar with her about academics.

"Name one of the five Principal Exceptions," she responds to his discourse on Elemental Conjuration, a challenging glint in her eyes.

"Food," he lazily replies, dismissing her question with a relaxed wave of his hand. "Really, Granger. I would've expected better from you."

"Well, I certainly did not expect that from you," she returns with a raised eyebrow.

"What do you take me for, Granger?" He closes his eyes and tilts the chair backwards, rocking on its hind legs. "You may have spent most of your life here around two layabouts but you will come to understand one day that not all of us are like that."

"Harry and Ron a-", she fiercely retorts before biting her lip. She's not one to cause a scene and if she has to be honest with herself, she did not want to chase away the only student who has ever been able to match her, word for word. She waits for a while before speaking again, not trusting herself to reply immediately. "Ron and Harry aren't layabouts. They just … Studying isn't their thing."

He chuckles lightly and then opens his eyes to look at her. She smiles in response, knowing full well that what she'd just said was a very severe and massive understatement.

"Ron and Harry, you say?" He catches on the positioning of their names, causing her to blanch a little. "So it would be safe to presume that you and Weasel are, to put it delicately, _in a relationship_?"

She can feel herself blushing, and curses inwardly. She hurriedly looks down, hoping that Malfoy wouldn't notice her reddening cheeks.

"Silence is consent, Granger," he drawls, rocking the chair back and forth. "Don't beat yourself up over it. Anybody could see what was going on since sixth year."

She continues staring at her paper, her neat script filling the parchment aplenty. Noticing that her almost empty inkpot, she reminds herself to buy some more during the next Hogsmeade trip.

"Though I must add, I think you can do better."

That one casual remark causes her to whip her head up quickly, cracking her neck painfully. She lets out a groan as she tilts her head back down and massages the back of her neck. "Oh, what do you know Malfoy." She says it more as a statement than a question, bringing about another infuriating smirk on his part.

"You're right, I don't know anything. Far be it for me to make any comments on your burgeoning relationship." He lets his head fall back and stares at the high ceiling of the library. "I was merely stating my opinion. You can choose to take it or leave it."

"I'll leave it, thanks," she replies snottily before catching herself. "You're absolutely infuriating."

"And that, Granger, is something you should've expected," he smoothly ripostes.

She looks up and stares at his relaxed profile. His head, leaning backwards, causes his white-blond hair to fall away, revealing his pale, fine features etched with a hidden sadness that's disguised as casual indifference. Swiftly, he turns to her, and she is graced with a small smile. Not one of his aggravating smirks but a real, warm, sincere smile. Before she knows it, she finds herself smiling back at him as well. The two of them continue to do so for a while, as though they're both in on a secret well kept.

And then the moment's over.

In one fluent motion, he lifts his legs off the table and stands up. "It's lunchtime now," he says to her, his eyes now reverting to a light grey. "Don't starve yourself over homework, Granger. It really isn't worth it." And with that, he swiftly picks the book up and walks off without a second glance.

--

After a moment's confusion at his abrupt departure, Hermione turns back to her work. The words on the parchment now swimming before her eyes, she frowns at her inability to keep her thoughts away from Malfoy and direct them to her essay.

_The ability to Conjure can be hampered by …_

She sighs, rubs her eyes and tries again.

_The ability to Conjure can be hampered by four different factors …_

This time, she plonks her head unto her books and thuds it gently against the thick reams of yellowed paper repeatedly, as though doing so would knock all other thoughts out.

_The ability to Conju-_

Exhaling her vexation out in one long breath, she closes her books and packs her work neatly into her bag. Standing up, she tucks her wand carefully into the front pocket of her cloak and lifts her bag's handle on to her shoulder. Staring at the recently vacated seat in front of her, she smiles, remembering their conversation and inside jokes.

Maybe there's hope after all.

And then she walks off to the Great Hall. Now that she's thinking about it, she's actually quite hungry.

--

Draco, in the midst of finishing his lunch, is deep in conversation about Blaise about Wandless magic. And even though the tall black boy, with his superior skills in wand handling, has no interest in picking it up, he still debates with Draco over the effects of Wandless magic and whether it really is worth all the trouble.

"The thing is, is it really worth it? Wandless magic is known to tire wizards out very quickly, even over small spells and such."

Draco forks the remaining chicken left on his plate. "Yes, but think of the amount of time saved. And the surprise element. If one could master it, it would be an invaluable asset to have," he says before bringing the fork up to his mouth and stripping the chicken away, chewing contemplatively.

"Unless you intend to be a duelist, Malfoy, and I see no reason for that now," Blaise replies as he takes a gulp of water, washing his lunch down.

Lost in thought, Draco only stands when Blaise nudges him, intent on continuing the discussion in their dormitory, where it is quieter. The two boys walk away from the Slytherin table and head for the expansive doors when a Slytherin fourth-year, shrugging his friends off, runs after them with his wand at the ready.

"Malfoy, you traitor! You've betrayed us! You don't deserve to li-"

The boy suddenly stops in his tracks and stands upright, ramrod straight. His eyes, dark and blazing with fury, stare daggers at Draco, whose wand is pointed right at him. The lanky and pallid fourth-year falls to the floor, stiff as a wood block. The mad, almost fanatical look on his face is captured in the Body-Bind Curse that Draco had so silently and swiftly performed on him.

The entire Great Hall is silent. A clanging is heard as someone drops a fork on to the marble floor. Hermione watches from the Gryffindor House table, her brown eyes as round as dinner plates. In a different time and place, she would have nodded her approval at the perfectly executed non-verbal Body-Bind Curse. But in this situation, all she can do is look and hope for the best.

"What is going on here?" McGonagall enters the Great Hall, her face wrought with unanswered questions upon seeing Draco holding his wand out in front of him. She follows the direction it is pointing towards and finally notices the bound Slytherin on the floor, beads of sweat leaving trails down his flushed face. Her eyes widen with concern and shock and she quickly turns to the creamy-skinned boy, who has by now kept his wand.

"Mister Malfoy, please make your way up to my office and wait for me outside. Mister Zabini, back to your common room," she instructs in a controlled tone before directing her attention back to the boy on the floor and murmuring a counter spell to release him. Blaise pulls Draco's sleeve, indicating that they should be taking their leave.

As Draco turns on his heel to make his way to the Headmistress's office, he overhears everybody else launching back into the familiarly rambunctious level of noise. Now that the moment is over, he feels anger bubbling in the recesses of his stomach, threatening to burst out.

"I guess I was wrong about you not needing to duel," Blaise breaks the tense silence with one of his typically casual remarks, smirking as they reach the stairs leading up. "Good luck," he adds, before walking down towards the dungeons.

Draco nods mutely and begins to climb the stairs swiftly, taking two at a time. Gripping his book tightly in his left hand, he doesn't stop to take a breather until he reaches the seventh floor and is greeted by a statue of a gargoyle that, upon noticing Draco's arrival, sneers at him. Ignoring the gargoyle's attempts to provoke him, he leans against the wall opposite the entrance and closes his eyes, using his free hand to massage the bridge of his nose.

--

Ten minutes later, his eyelids fly open and he turns to look down the corridor. Sure enough, McGonagall is striding towards him from a distance, her face controlled and her lips set in a grim line. Upon reaching him, she beckons him to follow closely behind and turns to the gargoyle.

"Alasdair Maddock," she tells the gargoyle who then leaps aside as the wall behind it splits into two, revealing an upward-moving spiral stone staircase. Draco mentally files the Magpies Chaser's name away for further usage. "Ahem," McGonagall clears her throat and stares at the boy who, despite being taller than her, shows no inclination to oppose her in any way. He follows in her footsteps, stepping on the movable stone staircase and being led up to her office.

Upon reaching her office, McGonagall walks to her tidy desk with an evident familiarity that shows that she has adapted well in her new position as Headmistress. Framed pictures of the past headmasters and headmistresses lines all three walls surrounding the desk, and Draco spots Dumbledore calmly reading a book in the picture right behind the desk, above McGonagall's chair.

"Sit, Mister Malfoy," she nods to the heavy wooden chair, not unlike those found in the library, across from her as she seats herself down behind her table. Cautiously, he makes his way to her table and lowers himself into the chair, placing the book on his lap and he leans back and waits for her to begin. He has a fine idea of what McGonagall might do. She might yell at him, sure. Dock points off of Slytherin, he doesn't care. Suspend? Tiny, almost unnoticeable twinges of regret uncoil in his stomach. Even though Draco desires the hushed stillness of solitude, he does not fancy the idea of being confined in his dormitory for weeks on end.

The Headmistress stares at him for a while, then takes her glasses off and places them on the table, on top of some books. Following a quick glance to Dumbledore's portrait, as though seeking approval, she turns back to the slender boy seated in front of her, his bottle-blond hair effectively catching the rays of the afternoon sun streaming in.

"Mister Malfoy, I'd like to hear what you have to say," she speaks in an even tone, leaning back against her chair.

Quietly, he replies while looking at one of the books on her table. "I have nothing to say, Headmistress."

She evaluates him silently, all the while thinking of ways to get him to open up. Being a member of the Order of the Phoenix, she's privy to the knowledge that his parents have joined in on the hunt for remaining Death Eaters. She wonders if that alone is the source of his newfound reticence, displayed only in this last school year of his.

"Mister Malfoy, you ca-"

"Pardon me, Professor. As I'd mentioned earlier, I have nothing to say in my defense. Whatever punishment you deem appropriate to hand to me, I will accept it," he smoothly cuts in, still not meeting her eyes.

She sighs and leans forward, clasping her hands and placing them on her desk in front of him. "I know what's going on, Draco. With the events that occurred last year and your parents swi-"

"I'd greatly appreciate it if we could keep my personal life out of this, Professor."

Watching his expressionless face, she realises that she will not get anywhere with him, at least not now. She puts her glasses back on and clears her throat, signalling a change of topic. "Mister Braddock refused to tell me what happened, but Miss Granger,"

His head twitches a little at the mention of her name.

"… and Miss Weasley of Gryffindor has given me full accounts of the incident in the Great Hall and no doubt that you were provoked by Mister Braddock. Therefore Mister Braddock has been assigned detention with Argus Filch for two weeks for intentionally provoking a fellow student."

He waits for her to continue and when he perceives that she has nothing more to say, he speaks. "What about me?"

A brief few seconds of silence fall as she digests the hidden innocence behind the question. "Nothing, Mister Malfoy. You did what you had to do."

Draco nods and stands up, holding the book with both hands. "Will that be all, Headmistress?"

"Yes," and the wise Professor watches as he nods a second time and turns to leave. "And Mister Malfoy?"

He stops and turns slightly as he waits for her to finish.

"I just want you to know that you can come here, anytime, if you feel the need to discuss about anything."

Another nod, and then he's gone. She leans back and shuts her eyes, rubbing her temples absently.

"You did well, Minerva," Dumbledore's soothing voice serves to assuage her worries further.

"You really think so, Albus?" She turns to look at him, now completely disregarding the book he was reading before. "I just … I don't know how to get through to him."

"Yes," his twinkling blue eyes deep in thought. "That boy needs time. When he is ready to face his demons, his deliverance will be there to save him from himself."

A frown wrinkles McGonagall's forehead and Dumbledore chuckles.

"Have faith, Minerva. In yourself, in the boy, in the new world that's repairing itself in front of you. He will come around."

--

Draco slowly walks down each step, slowly comprehending his meeting with McGonagall. He'd thought he saw pity in her eyes, and irritatedly kicks a crushed up ball of parchment on one of the steps, undoubtedly recklessly discarded by a student. A sudden rush of awareness hits him and he looks around, expecting to see somebody rounding a corner or climbing the stairs.

"Malfoy, ooh you naughty little litterbug! Wait till McGonny hears about this! Detention for you too!" Peeves cackles from the ceiling and Draco unhurriedly looks up, an annoyed scowl on his face. The mischievous poltergeist is floating around the ceiling in circles over the boy's head, laughing and pulling faces and randomly shouting out rude insults at the student standing near the end of the fourth-floor staircase. "Malfoy's gonna be in trouble! Peeves can't _wait_ to see McGonny punish him! It's gonna be a wee fun ri-"

For the second time today, Draco's wand is swiftly removed from his cloak and pointed at someone else. "Silencio," he lazily mutters, effectively hushing the maddeningly bothersome poltergeist. Peeves, upon realising that no sound is coming out of him no matter how loud he shouts, grabs his throat and flies away, but not before pointing a rude gesture at the completely unconcerned seventh-year.

Stashing his wand back safely, he continues walking down as if nothing had happen. The poltergeist will take care of himself.

"Malfoy!" He hears someone calling him from behind. Letting out an aggravated sigh, he stops but refuses to turn around. Can't anybody tell that he just wants to be left alone?

"Malfoy," he hears the familiar voice getting closer and the steady rhythm of footsteps as whoever called his name is walking briskly towards him. "Hey."

It's Granger. Pushing his previous feelings of extreme annoyance, he looks behind and sees Granger striding towards him, her hair flying in all directions. With her is the Weasley girl, with an unfathomable look of suspicion on her face as she falls behind her friend. He turns to face them properly as Granger slows down to a stop in front of him, with the other girl still walking slowly towards them, looking rather dubious.

Ignoring her, he looks at Granger, whose cheeks are flushed and lips slightly apart to allow for easier breathing. Even though she was the one who'd called him in the first place, it seems as though she didn't really know what she wanted to say to him. She merely stares intently at his face, as though looking for something hidden in his features. And so it is he who breaks the presently awkward silence between them, accompanied by the cautious footsteps of her red-haired friend.

"You called?"

His words seem to have a magical effect on her as she sputters into life, blinking, looking away then looking back at him. "I … I hope you didn't get into trouble with the Headmistress," she musters with as much dignity as she can.

He continues looking at her, his eyebrows knitted in curiosity. His gunmetal grey eyes bear not a slightest hint of malice, but are shuttered to prevent her from looking in too deeply and seeing everything. The other girl joins them now, standing a small distance away from him behind Granger. His eyes flick over to her then back to the brunette standing so daringly near him.

"And what's it to you, Granger?"

She seems to have no reply to that and there's another awkward stillness for a while before her fiery friend retorts. "Well, a thank you would be nice!" She huffs, folding her arms across her chest as she glares at Draco.

He throws a glance at her, staring longer this time and notices that unlike everybody else, she continues glaring with her chin pointed, a defiant glint in her eyes. Speaking exclusively to the umber-haired seventh-year, he leans forwards and lowers his voice, muttering into her ear and sending shivers down her spine. "Thank you Granger, but as I've said before, I don't want your sympathy."

Straightening up, he smirks at her then nods at the Weasley girl standing behind, her face ready to explode, unquestionably because of what he had just done with her older brother's girlfriend. Swivelling on his heel gracefully, he turns and strides off down the stairs, book in hand and head held high.

--

"I can't believe he just did that to you!" Ginny bursts as they watch his back retreat further and further down the stairs.

"Y-Yeah," Hermione croaks, her face still puce from the earlier encounter with the Slytherin.

"And not even a word of thanks! That little ingrate wasn't even worth our time! Merlin knows why you had to run after him, he _clearly_ doesn't appreciate our efforts in keeping _him_ out of trouble," Ginny grumbles as she walks forward to stand beside Hermione, who allows the words to enter and depart her mind without processing a single thing. After a few minutes, Ginny frowns and nudges her friend.

"Come on, Hermione. Let's go back to the Common Room. Dean and Seamus stole some Butterbeers from the kitchens."

It takes some pulling of Hermione's school robes to finally break her reverie. Looking hopelessly lost, she turns to her red-haired friend, her coffee-coloured eyes swimming in confusion. "Hermione," Ginny calls her name, a little worried by her friend's sudden state of uncertainty.

At the sound of her name, Hermione Granger blinks and finds herself looking into the concerned eyes of Ginny Weasley. She quickly arranges her expression into a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "Butterbeer? I could use some of that."

She catches Ginny's continued look of bewildered skepticism and cuts in before Ginny can voice her worries. "I'm fine, Gin. Just … a little tired, that's all. Spent the entire morning working on my Transfiguration essay."

"You work too hard," replies the youngest Weasley, deciding it useless to pursue the subject and linking her arm with Hermione's and leading the way back to the Gryffindor Common Room. "It's the weekend! Relax a little, won't you?"

"Yeah yeah," Hermione returns affectionately. The two girls walk, arm in arm, back up the stairs and Ginny, now chatting about the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend next week, doesn't notice her friend throwing a quick look back at the spot where Malfoy stood just minutes ago.

--

"Snake tergum," mutters Draco as the familiar hidden door in a blank stone wall slides open, and he steps into the low-ceilinged Slytherin Common Room. The dingy walls are cold, slightly damp and are punctuated by greenish lamps across the lengths. The low chatter of the students around quieten down as they all stare at Draco's moving figure. He can almost feel their hatred burning his high-quality robes away. Never, in the history of Hogwarts, has a Slytherin ever hexed his own Housemate. The Slytherins may be temperamental as a collective, but they are still able to remain loyal to each other. To have someone else attack one of them would bring about a furious unity within the House. But to have one of their own assault another is a different matter all together.

Ignoring the fuming yet fearful glares of the other students, he makes his way to his dormitory, where Blaise Zabini is lounging on his own bed and waving his wand languidly, its tip emitting dark smoke rings which linger in the dormitory longer than usual. The boy, whose skin is a pleasant hazel colour, doesn't acknowledge Draco's arrival, but is aware of his friend's entrance.

Theodore Nott is quietly reading a book on his own bed and looks up when Draco steps in, but does nothing more than nod at the boy then returns to his book. The feeble-looking loner is actually shrewder than he looks, thanks to his grandfather who'd taught him everything he knows. From what he had learnt from Grandfather Nott, he'd rather go through the entire seventh year a recluse than involve himself in petty House politics that does not concern him at all.

Draco flings his cloak thoughtlessly on to his chair before throwing himself unto his bed, stretching his full body length on the soft mattress and crossing his ankles. He props his book up on his flat stomach and turns to the page he'd last stopped at.

"So," Blaise speaks up, butting in on the silence of the seventh-years dormitory. "Detention? Suspension? Expulsion? Or worse?"

Without taking his eyes off the words printed in front of him, Draco replies. "None."

"Nothing at all?"

"Nothing."

Blaise raises his eyebrows and looks down past his feet and to his friend lazily reading his infernal book on the bed. "Interesting," he finishes and then returns his gaze to the top of his own four-poster bed, where an almost indiscernible smoke ring lingers then dissipates as though frightened of Blaise's idle scrutiny. Since he was young, his mother has taught him to gauge situations, to know when to speak and when not to. This situation, with all three Slytherin seventh-years lazing in the cool dormitory instead of enjoying the warmth of the sun's rays outside, calls for him to remain silent.

--

Alone in her dormitory and away from the exuberant gathering downstairs in the Common Room, Hermione takes a piece of parchment covered in large scribbles out of her bag and flattens it out on her bed. Smiling to herself, she rereads the letter received during this morning's post once more.

_Dear Hermione,_

_Work is still the same. George has recently invented some new product, but of course I can't tell you anything about it until we're sure that we're going to start selling it. He's all right too. Angelina Johnson's been visiting pretty frequently, so maybe there might be something going on. I don't know, but when she comes over, she'll go right up to his room and the both of them will lock themselves in right till dinnertime, when Mum calls. Suspicious, don't you think?_

_In her recent letter, Ginny told Harry that Malfoy's up to something. Mum and Dad and Kingsley all say that we should learn to trust them again, especially since we're going to be working so closely with them. Even Harry agrees with them. I don't know, but I'm just warning you because who knows what stunt Malfoy might pull. He may have changed but I'd like to see it for myself before believing it._

_Oh, exciting news: Kingsley offered me a position as an Auror! I'm definitely going to take it, sure would be loads more interesting than working with the new and not so improved George. But I told Kingsley to hold on to that position for now, because I think it would be better if I stayed with George for a while longer. Maybe another year or so, just to get him back to his normal self. _

_So I'll see you in Hogsmeade next Saturday then. Harry and I both can't wait, but I bet I'm more excited than he is._

_Love always,  
Ron  
_

Grinning, she brings the letter up to her nose and takes a deep breath. Almost instinctively, she can smell his fresh scent. Having spent all of summer with him and Harry, she found herself missing them more than she'd expected. Setting the letter down, she lies back on her pillows and a wide grin tugs at the corners of her lips.

Next Saturday it is.


	5. A Day At Hogsmeade

**Author's Note: **I figure I've been moving slow enough, so here's just a LITTLE bit of action. Well, not action per se, but ... ah. Read on and you'll know what I mean. :)

Please keep your reviews coming! Many thanks to those who've sent in reviews, I love them all and your suggestions will be duly noted.

* * *

**Chapter Five:**

**A Day At Hogsmeade**

It is the end of their Thursday double Advanced Transfiguration lesson, and all the seventh-years are packing up to leave. Draco watches as the Gryffindor seventh-year submits her thickly rolled Advanced Transfiguration assignment on Conjuring Spells and smirks. As though she can sense his eyes on her, she glances at him and after some hesitation, gives him a tiny smile that is unseen by others. He raises his index and middle fingers and lightly touches his temple in the smallest of salutes, acknowledging her uncertain response, before smoothly grabbing his books and leaving the classroom with Blaise.

While walking back to the Slytherin Common Room, he slowly thinks over the conversation he'd had in the library with the petite Gryffindor brunette on Saturday morning, remaining mostly silent as Blaise idly divulges the details of his Wednesday night with Daphne Greengrass. Not caring about how far the ebony-skinned boy had gotten last night, he makes a few non-committed grunts as they cross through the Common Room, strolling to their dormitory.

"Well, you should've told me that you weren't interested. Then at least I won't have to waste my breath," Blaise's low baritone voice rings in his head, cutting in on his swirling thoughts.

Draco sighs in slight irritation as he throws his books unto his bed and watches as they bob up and down for a while, the springs of the mattress throwing the weight up and down. "Zabini, you knew that I didn't care from the start and yet you still chose to tell me," he looks over from across the room at his friend who is sitting on the edge of the bed, taking his shoes and socks off. "So why don't you finish up your story then allow me to conclude for you that Greengrass would have allowed you to do anything to her, with or without your carefully chosen words for last night."

Annoyed at his friend's obvious inattentiveness he may be, a smile still tugs at the corners of his full, dark lips. "I don't think I want to continue now, seeing as you evidently already can predict what happened next."

"Yes, Zabini. I'm not stupid," Draco drawls as he removes his cloak and hangs it in his closet.

"Never said you were," Blaise returns easily, lying face up on his bed with his hands behind his head. A moment of silence, then, "So how is Granger?"

The pale boy stiffens noticeably, his fluid movements suddenly jerky and brusque. The previously relaxed atmosphere swiftly changes into a terse, tight one. Blaise notices the change and looks down at his friend with a cocked eyebrow, who has suddenly ceased taking his thicker cloak out of his closet.

And as quickly the sudden tension advanced, it disappeared. Draco quickly rearranges his expression into one of superior indifference and continues removing his night cloak from the wooden wardrobe as though nothing had happened. "What're you babbling about, Zabini?"

Blaise gives a short laugh. "Now you're the one who thinks me stupid, Malfoy," he replies with a knowing smile. "I may not be as sensitive as you, but neither am I blind. I've seen you looking at her."

Another terse second of quietude. "Your point being?"

The dark-skinned young man ignores the potential danger in Draco's voice and carries on with a teasingly serious tone. "My point being that you should go talk to her. I implore you to. I won't have anymore of these clandestine looks from across the corridors or classrooms. It makes me feel somewhat put down that I don't have such a _connection_ with Greengrass."

All the tension lifts from Draco's body at the well-meaning joke, and he returns with a smirk. "Yes, because we both know that you constantly rue your benefits-only relationship with her."

"Why, I'm glad you know me so well," Blaise responds with mockingly wide eyes and a bad imitation of a feminine swoon. "If only there was something more."

Draco chuckles as he flings his lean frame unto his bed and closes his eyes. A pleasant stillness descends between the two boys whose friendship, in such a short span of time, has grown into something real, something that the both of them would've sneered at in the past.

"Talk to her," the same deep voice repeats. "It might make you feel better."

Maybe, just maybe, he might.

--

Hermione anxiously queues up behind the long line of Hogwarts students, all waiting for Filch to give them the okay for Hogsmeade.

"And where do you think you're going, boy?" Filch wheezes at a Hufflepuff fourth-year. "You come right back here!"

"Hermione!" She turns away from the sight of Filch berating the poor Hufflepuff to see Ginny running towards her, her blazing red hair flying in all directions. "Hey," Ginny breathlessly croaks upon reaching her, bending over with her hands on her knees to catch her breath. "Why'd you go off so quickly?"

Hermione feels a blush creeping up her neck and mentally wills it back down. "Nothing," she replies in a falsely casual voice.

Ginny shoots her a mischievous grin as she straightens up, patting her long red hair down. "Sure. Nothing meaning going early to see Ron?"

The blush is in full force, coating her neck and face and ears in all sorts of red. Hermione decides it wiser to say nothing and looks down at her shoes.

"Don't be so embarrassed!" Ginny links her arm with Hermione's, beaming as they follow the moving line out of the school building's large doors. "There's nothing to be ashamed about, wanting to see your boyfriend."

She grins. "Not if you put it that way, Ginny."

--

The youngest Weasley boy is standing on High Street in front of Honeydukes, dividing his time between nervously darting short glances at the steady stream of Hogwarts students strolling into the village and looking inside the candy store, now crammed with students clamouring for the newest addition to the Honeydukes line of charmed lollies. Another excitable peek at the newest entrants into Hogsmeade tells him that his girlfriend isn't here yet.

"Ron!" His head jerks around, startled by Harry Potter's yell from across the street as the raven-haired boy crosses it to join his redheaded best friend, not paying attention to the gasping passersby at the sight of him. "Why so jumpy?" Harry teases him with a smirk on his face, righting his spectacles.

"Shut up," Ron retorts with a scowl. He's always hated it when people make fun of his nerves when it comes to Hermione. Surely it isn't his fault that he's not as smooth and suave as the others. He steals another quick glimpse at the incoming surge of Hogwarts students, frowning as he tries to locate a head of curly brown tresses.

"They're coming, don't worry," Harry attempts to calm his friend down. "It's probably Filch holding them up or something."

"Yeah," Ron replies absentmindedly, this time not even bothering to hide the fact that he's looking out for her. "Yeah, you're right."

Harry looks out at the village, its roads and streets covered with students in black robes that are each trimmed in different colours. Red, blue, green and yellow. He notices a group of girls hovering just across the street from him, pointing and whispering and waving at him. He directs a smile towards them, causing their noise level to hitch up three notches as they turn to each other with widened eyes, all thrilled at the fact that The Boy Who Lived just acknowledged them. Ron, on the other hand, is completely unaware of the looks other girls are giving him because his attention is, sadly for them, directed at picking out someone else in the intermittent waves of students entering the village.

"So how long do you plan to work with George till you join us?" Harry asks his friend, even though he knows the answer.

"I don't know," Ron responds after a while, finally turning away from watching the sporadic groups of new arrivals and back to Harry. "Maybe a year or two."

"Are you sure you'll be able to wait that long?" Harry inquires with a meaningful smile, knowing full well that his gangly friend would much rather be in the thick of the action. It's not that working with George isn't fun, but it simply isn't the same as travelling the world with his best friend, hunting down dangerous Death Eaters.

Ron sighs before brushing his hand through his messy mop of hair, which has grown rather long in the past few weeks. "Hopefully," he replies sheepishly. "We're doing pretty well now, and George is kinda back to normal too. But I think I'll give it more time, just to make sure that he's really all right."

"And Angelina's been a great help, hasn't she?"

Ron lets out a short bark of laughter. "No doubts about that. In fact, she's around us so much that she might as well own a third of the business. Not that she'll need to, considering how _close _she is to George now."

The two friends chuckle in unison, recalling the embarrassing incident that has happened three days ago, which saw the single-eared George Weasley and Angelina Johnson getting caught snogging in the workshop above their Diagon Alley Weasley Wizard Wheezes shop by an extremely crimson-faced Ron.

"You should've seen her face, Harry! It was so sh-"

"I hope you guys weren't talking about us," Ginny smoothly interjects as Hermione and her catches them by surprise. "Otherwise we'd have to hex you two."

A smile of a different kind lights up Harry's face as he moves towards her and envelopes her into a tight hug. Having nearly lost her in the battle at Hogwarts, he's never passed on the opportunity to show her how much he loves her since then. She hugs him back tightly, chancing a chaste kiss on his flushed cheek.

The other two look on awkwardly at the publicly affectionate couple before catching each other's gaze. Ron begins by smiling at her, his eyes twinkling in delight. She returns his smile with a grin, the grin that, unknowingly to her, always seems to stop Ron's heart from beating for a few seconds. He extends his arm, his hand open and waiting, and she shyly puts her smaller hand in it, his long calloused fingers interweaving with hers. His thumb traces unidentifiable patterns unto her palm, sending tingles up her arm and making her heart pound faster in her ribcage.

Beaming, he turns to the hugging couple, now whispering in each other's ears. "Oi!" His booming voice causes the couple to jump simultaneously. "Take it to a room, if you must."

Harry smiles somewhat awkwardly while Ginny defiantly grabs his hand, lifting an eyebrow at her brother. A small pause of silence falls as the four of them look at each other, then Harry clears his throat. "So … where shall we go? Anywhere but Madam Puddifoot's, thanks."

--

Draco and Blaise are seated at the table by the door of the Three Broomsticks, now packed with their fellow students. He takes a gander around the well-known inn while sipping on his foaming tankard of hot Butterbeer. The place is noisy, with most of the round wooden tables taken by Hogwarts students and teachers, and Madam Rosmerta is busy serving a table full of Ravenclaws their drinks. He watches her for a while, remembering how he'd cast the Imperius Curse on her. For a while, he wondered if she really knew what had happened that year because she certainly had not acted any differently to him as she did with the other students.

"Hey," Blaise quietly calls for Draco's attention, nodding towards the door as he guzzled his mulled mead. Draco turns and just a short distance away from him stood Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.

Most of the people in the bar burst into cheers and loud, enthusiastic greetings upon seeing the two boys. The whooping gets louder when Hermione Granger joins them at the door, and he notices that she is trying her utmost best not to simply turn away and walk out.

Along with Ginny Weasley, whose hand is held tightly by Potter, the four of them weave through the tables to the nearest empty one, all the while getting claps on their backs and thumbs pointing up shoved in their faces.

"Bet they're enjoying the attention," Blaise says in an arrogant tone. "Though I must say, that Weasley girl got prettier."

Draco pretends he didn't hear his friend and continues staring at Granger, whose hand is engulfed so clumsily in the Weasel's large one. He watches as they seat themselves down and Madam Rosmerta bustles up to them, taking their orders.

"Well, look at that! Even Rosmerta is practicing favouritism!"

Again, Draco ignores Blaise, choosing instead to carry on watching the foursome. Potter and the Weasley girl certainly do look like they're in love, constantly touching each other's backs and whispering into each other's ears. He rolls his eyes at their extremely public display of affection and takes a swig of his drink. Turning his attention to Granger and Weasley, he finds that they don't make an aesthetically pleasing couple, the colours of their hair clashing horribly. Observing the couple, he looks on as Weasley makes a joke and the other three laugh in amusement. He wonders what would Weasley have said to be so funny, to cause Granger to laugh until her cheeks flush, until her eyes twinkle, until she has to cover her mouth in politeness …

"Jealous?" Blaise's rumbling voice cuts into his thoughts.

"No," Draco replies as he continues scrutinising them, not wanting to meet Blaise's eyes lest the boy seeing through his white lie. Because if he had to be completely truthful with himself, he had to admit that he _was_ just a little jealous.

"Right," was the unconvinced response.

He turns back to his friend who is slowly sipping on the mulled mead, a sly look in his dark brown eyes. "I'm not jealous, Zabini. I was just wondering how uncouth their collective sense of humour has to be if they find Weasley funny." After a few seconds, he realises that his retort was of a piss-poor standard and groans inwardly. He is better than that.

Blaise cocks his eyebrow and, thankfully, ignores the inadequate comeback. "Malfoy, you underestimate me and I'm offended."

Draco rolls his slate-grey eyes again and diverts them unto a splinter on the wooden table, not desiring to answer. "Where's Greengrass?" He abruptly changes the topic after a second of silence.

The other boy waits for while before answering, intent on letting Draco know that he will be kind enough to disregard the swift change of topic. "She's out somewhere with Parkinson. Shopping, perhaps. Doing what girls do."

"Will you be needing the dormitory empty later on?" Draco asks with a slight smirk on his face.

"Who knows?" Blaise shrugs nonchalantly, not even a hint of abashment on his handsome face as he looks out at the crowd of students in the bar. "If not for her, I might need it for someone else."

"From your fan club, I presume?"

Blaise looks down at his friend as he takes another drink. "A Hufflepuff, if you must know."

"Gracious, Zabini. Whatever happened to quality control?"

Raising both his eyebrows in mock offence, he counters effortlessly. "And you're one to talk. I'm sure Pansy Parkinson would rank number one in your relationship Hall of Fame."

A smile graces Draco's lips at the witty reply, and he is reminded of just why he is friends with Blaise Zabini. Infuriatingly observant he may be, but he's the only one whom Draco feels comfortable enough with. "Touché, my friend. But Parkinson was no Hufflepuff."

"Yes, well. She may be one of those idiots, but at least she's easy on the eyes." He continues staring off into the gaggle of students, and Draco half swivels on his stool to follow where Zabini's looking. Indeed, it is a table of Hufflepuff girls not far from them and one of the girls in particular, is blushing a rather crimson red.

He turns back to face the table and takes another sip. "Not bad Zabini, even for my standards."

Blaise chuckles and looks away from the Hufflepuff sixth-year, directing his attention back to Draco. "For your sake, let's not comment on your standards, shall we?"

--

In the past hour or so, Hermione has found herself flashing quick, unseen glances at Malfoy and it's unsettling her. Unable to focus on the conversation going on between Ron, Ginny and Harry about the Chudley Cannons' dismal position in the league and Malfoy's brooding face at the same time, she's finding herself to be an inattentive listener, smiling vaguely at Ron whenever he looks at her or rubs her hand with his thumb.

"Everything all right, love?" Ron whispers into her ear when Harry and Ginny suspiciously make off to the toilets, with only a ten second gap between their individual departures.

"Yes," she turns to him and replies, smiling as warmly as she can. "I'm just a little tired."

"Gin wrote Harry that you've been working too hard. You should relax," his blue eyes boring holes into hers, concerned worry reflecting off them.

She smiles and squeezes his hand reassuringly. "I'm fine, Ron. No need to worry about me."

Though not entirely convinced, he chooses to let it go and without a moment's hesitation, gently brushes his lips against her cheek. "I've missed you," he murmurs in her ear, sending a pleasant tingle down her spine. Using his other hand, he tenderly rubs her knee, watching as a pretty blush forms on her cheeks.

"Ron, not here," She insists as she softly pushes his hand away. It's not a rejection, but neither is it an invitation to snog in front of the entire inn as well.

He pulls away reluctantly and pouts, bringing a smile to her face. "It's not fair, I haven't seen you in so long."

"It's only been two weeks, Ron," she reminds him with a roll of her eyes.

"Which is really long considering I could snog you anytime I wanted before," he raises his eyebrows suggestively, remembering all the times they'd explored each other's sensitive spots in the privacy of their rooms. "Let's go somewhere private," he adds with a sly smile on his lips.

Tempting as it may sound, she refuses to give in to his advances. "No, Ron. Anyway, where could we go? You know I can't bring you to Hogwarts."

"We could say that I was just visiting. Your room. Alone with you."

She laughed. "Like that would work, Mister Weasley."

"Or we could rent one of the rooms here. It's September, it won't be full."

"Ron!" She playfully pushes against his broad chest, pointedly ignoring the fact that her fingers are touching her favourite part of his body.

He steals another quick kiss on her cheek then pulls back to look at her, his eyes glinting with what she saw as love and restrained desire. Again she blushes, not knowing what to do about what she sees in his eyes.

"Don't worry, Hermione. I'm not going to rush you," he says as he lightly caresses her back with his fingers. "I'll wait for as long as you want." It is as though he could read her mind. She thinks back to that morning spent with Malfoy at the Owlery. Is she really that easy to read?

Chastising herself for thinking about another boy when she's with her boyfriend, she hastily smiles at him. "Thank you, Ron. You don't know how much this means to me."

He nods slowly while looking at her small hand. "But we can still grab a room, right?"

She laughs again, with the smile really reaching her eyes this time.

--

Draco finds himself somewhat uncomfortable, having witnessed the intimacy between Granger and Weasel. Feeling perturbed, he takes to staring at the splinter again, thanking Merlin that at least Zabini didn't catch him gazing at the affectionate couple, seated just a few tables away.

It is as though he's eaten something bad for breakfast, because his stomach is churning wildly and his heart is palpitating at a rate never experienced before. Taking a deep breath, he tries to quell these confusing feelings and forget what he'd just saw. However to do so is impossible, not when all he can imagine is Weasel holding Granger tightly and kissing her cheek.

He takes another drink from his large tankard, hoping that the Butterbeer will soothe his stomach.

--

Harry and Ginny finally emerge from the toilets after a good ten minutes or so, both not even bothering to come back out at different times. They sit themselves back on the table opposite Ron and Hermione, both of whom are sporting large smirks. Harry clears his throat then, without making any eye contact at all, proceeds to pick up his Butterbeer and down the remainder in two brief gulps.

"Thirsty, are you?" Hermione breaks the amused silence. Ginny snickers a little before disguising it as a loud cough. Harry, still refusing to look at Ron, ends up staring at Ron's shoulder.

"Yes," he finally manages to answer, all the while trying to stop himself from blushing.

"Ahhh. We can see why going to the toilets would make you thirsty. All the business to do in there. Must be terribly taxing on you," Ron adds, making Harry blush a brilliant red.

"Uh," Harry croaks out before shooting a look of desperate plea to a smiling Ginny, obviously needing some help. Ginny simply looks on at her floundering boyfriend with a raised eyebrow, thoroughly entertained at the sight before her. He turns back to the table, muttering incomprehensibly under his breath about stupid girlfriends and even stupider best friends.

"Sorry? Didn't hear you the first time, mate," Ron jokingly questions, even though all three of them had heard enough to know what Harry was so crankily going on about.

Rolling his eyes, the expression on his face makes it clear that the other couple should just blow past it. "Ah … shall we go then?"

--

Approaching the door of the inn, Hermione finds herself holding her breath. In a matter of seconds, they are going to walk past Malfoy and Zabini, both of whom are deep in conversation. As the foursome move closer towards the door, the rousing goodbyes by the other patrons of the inn seem to grab the two Slytherins' attention. And once again, Hermione is staring deep into a pair of silver-grey eyes.

Suddenly, his eyes shift to Harry, who has stopped by the table. Zabini looks on with an air of unconcerned detachment, bringing his drink slowly up to his lips. The entire inn sits in a strange hushed stillness, everybody paying full attention to the exchange between the Slytherin and the Boy Who Lived and foolishly expecting wands to be drawn. Harry and Ron are now side by side, staring at the white-blond boy who rises from his seat, staring right back with an unwavering gaze.

"What do you want, Potter?" The unhurried drawl has grown familiar to her ears.

Harry extends his hand forward and the fair-skinned boy looks at it questioningly. "I'd like to call a truce, Malfoy." He takes a deep breath, and carries on. "We don't have to like each other, but at least, let there be respect."

Cocking a perfectly shaped eyebrow, his eyes search Harry's jade ones for a while before a smirk grows on his face. "Sure," and he grabs Harry's hand firmly in his for a while before letting go.

Another awkward silence, and Ron looks like he's about to get sick, fighting an inner battle between forever hating that smug Slytherin git or putting the past behind them. For a while there, it looks as though Ron might just stomp out of the Three Broomsticks. But in the end, the levelheaded side of the youngest Weasley son wins. Ron jabs his hand out, stiff and straight, and summons all his patience.

"Y-Yeah, Malfoy. Truce?" Even these three words seem to take a toll on Ron, whose face is getting redder by the second. Somehow finding it terribly hilarious, Hermione catches herself before anything could be done, namely bursting into peals of laughter at the sight of Ron who looks like he's about explode. She anxiously chews on her lower lip, hoping for the unintentionally funny moment to pass quickly.

--

Draco looks on in silent amusement for a while, then decides that the time is not right to be pushing the buttons of Weasley just yet. He seizes the redhead's hand in a firm handshake and surreptitiously snatches a quick glance at Granger, who is standing close to Weasel and biting her lip nervously. His heart slows down a little and for a short moment, he can't seem to breathe.

And as quickly as Weasel had stuck his hand out, he withdraws it, as though shaking Draco's hand for too long would cause him to break out in rashes. The Slytherin boy notices the uncomfortable silence and smirks, his eye catching Granger's fleetingly. For a spilt second, it seems as though the two of them are the only ones who truly understand the inner turmoil going on in Weasley's mind. For a split second, it seems as though the two of clued in on a joke that nobody else will get. For a split second, they are the only two people in the world.

With slight difficulty, he tears his eyes off of her and back to Potter who, he realises too late, had noticed the secret exchange between him and Granger. The curious expression then swiftly changes into one of politeness once the raven-haired boy had become aware of the fact that a pair of cold, grey eyes was staring right at him. Whatever he saw would have to be thought through later.

"See you around, Malfoy. Zabini." Harry civilly adds before turning to walk out of the inn, hand in hand with Ginny. Blaise acknowledges him with an idle nod, then directs his attention back to the Hufflepuff girl. After a second's hesitation, Ron chooses to bid goodbye with an abrupt nod then hurriedly ushers Hermione out of the doors, giving her little chance to say a proper goodbye.

He sits back down and finishes the rest of his now lukewarm Butterbeer in three quick quaffs. Setting the empty tankard heavily on the table, he satisfyingly smashes the splinter into pieces.

"Friends now, are we?" Blaise languidly comments, still sipping on his mulled mead. "_Excellent_."

Draco doesn't reply to the sarcastic remark immediately. Instead, he chooses to bring back the image of Granger quite literally being pushed out of the door by Weasley, and the look in her eyes before she'd disappeared past the doors. There was a mingled look of apology and … something else that he can't quite comprehend.

Shaking his head to rid himself of all those thoughts, he wills himself back to the table. "It's just common courtesy to accept a truce when given one," he replies with a small smirk, knowing that Blaise would never doubt his actions, no matter what.

"Yes, well. This still doesn't mean that I want to mix around with those Gryffindors, _oh purest and bravest of them all_."

"I never said that we would. Now come on," Draco stands up and puts his cloak on. "Let's go for a stroll."

--

Two hours of window-shopping left the foursome a little tired and desiring privacy. So with Harry and Ginny having disappeared minutes ago, Ron and Hermione are walking down High Street hand in hand, swinging slightly from the motion of their moving bodies. He leads her off the main street, through an alley and unto a side street. The road is much smaller and cosier, mostly due to the fact that most of the houses in Hogsmeade are situated here. They walk down the cobbled avenue, admiring the nicer-looking houses together.

"Look at that, Ron," she whispers as she nods at a homey cottage, complete with a small rose garden and a smoking chimney. "It's so beautiful."

"Yeah," he replies thickly, watching her as she looks on at the house in wonder. He squeezes her hand and she looks up at him, her eyes glistening under the setting sun. He smiles, all the while thinking that he's never seen such an enchanting sight before. "You're beautiful," he croaks out before chastising himself inwardly. What _was_ that?

But his hoarse voice didn't seem to bother her in the slightest. She smiled at him, and he's instantly reminded of how she'd ignored him for days on end when he'd returned to them last year, at the Forest of Dean. A quick shudder runs down his spine as he recalls Who Know Who's locket, and the Hermione that had been conjured. However he suppresses the sick feeling quickly, redirecting his thoughts to her, to this beautiful amazing girl standing in front of him, all wrapped up in her cloak.

"Ron, are you okay?" She asks with a small smile on her face.

He steps forward and envelops her in his long arms, stroking her brown curls and breathing deeply into it, the scent of strawberry and new parchment wafting up to his nostrils. Mentally, he files the perfection of this moment away in his mind. The both of them in a tight hug, standing in front of a house in the middle of the street as the sun dips below the horizon. Her face is buried in his broad chest; his face is buried in her deliciously scented hair.

Pulling back a little, he leans in for a tender and chaste grazing of the lips. Her arms move to encircle his neck and he leans forward again, this time passionately kissing her. Her lips part and he dives in, pouring his heart and soul into her. He pulls her closer to him, her body crammed right against his as his arms tighten around her body, his hands exploring her back, her neck, her hair.

A long moment later, they part. He rests his forehead against hers, slightly panting from the lack of air. From his angle, he can see her long eyelashes quiver each time she blinks.

"I'll take that as a yes, I guess," she jokes, and a smile widens on his face.

"Yeah," he manages. "Too bad your sense of decency won't allow us to rent a room for a couple of hours."

She playfully pushes against him but doesn't get far because of his muscular arms around her. "Idiot."

He pulls her in for another hug, wanting to smell her hair again. The past two weeks of not being able to see her was so much harder to get through than he'd originally expected.

"I love you," he murmurs into her hair, not caring if she can hear it or not. Others may consider their relationship young but for once, Ron didn't care about what people thought at all.

--

The thing is, Hermione had heard his proclamation of love and for some reason completely unknown to her, her heart stopped. Not in the way she'd read and been told about, when the girl's heart stops because of the blatant happiness coursing through her veins. But it just … it just stopped for a second, and suddenly she found it rather hard to breathe.

Pretending not to have heard it at all, she merely snuggled up closer to him, rubbing her face against the thick material of his cloak. He kisses her hair, and a flash of guilt runs through her. Shouldn't she be happy? Shouldn't she be contented? Why was she feeling like this?

Choosing to ignore those answered questions; she raises her head and tiptoes, touching his lips with hers. And as he leans in again and his arms tighten around her once more, she allows herself to be swept away by the moment, leaving those dreadful pangs of conscience behind.


	6. All Is Forgiven

**Author's Note: **New chapter! :) Not very happy with this shorter one because I've had to rush through it, so you'll have to tell me if it's up to par or not.

Will try my best to update this as regularly as I did before. The semester's coming to an end and I have tons of assignments to complete, plus I have to catch up on my reading for my exams so ... I'll try. No promises though.

Well, you know what to do right? Read ... and review. :)

**P.S.** Thanks for all the kind reviews about the story. At least I know I'm going down the right track. Help me spread the word too, yes? Cheers!

* * *

**Chapter Six:**

**All Is Forgiven  
**

Aurora Sinistra dismisses the small seventh-year Advanced Astronomy class, attended only by three Ravenclaws, one Hufflepuff and one Gryffindor. As the rest of the students pack their telescopes and books and amble out of the classroom wearily, Hermione Granger approaches the Professor at her table.

"Professor, may I stay here for a while longer? Just an hour, so that I can finish my star chart."

Shaking her head knowingly, the elderly Professor smiles at the young woman, one of the brightest students whom she has had the pleasure of teaching. "Miss Granger, you will only need to submit the completed star chart to me after class next Tuesday. You can come back here at any other night during the week," the professor gently reminds the Gryffindor.

"Yes, Professor. But I'd very much like to finish the star chart tonight so that I won't have to worry about it in the week," the seventh-year replies somewhat stubbornly.

Having taught the bright girl for six years, the professor knows that no good will come from insisting that she head back to her Common Room for the night. Nodding her head, she smiles at the satisfied look on the brown-haired girl's face.

"Very well, Miss Granger." She bends down and collects her books and teaching materials. "But I will be sending a fellow student over to escort you back to your Common Room at the end of your hour."

Without thinking, she opens her mouth to protest, to tell Professor Sinistra that she's in her seventh-year, that she'll be able to fend for herself, that this is Hogwarts, that she ha-

"Now I know what you must be thinking, Miss Granger. But you'll never know now, would you?" The professor asks with a raised eyebrow as she picks her books and teaching materials up from her desk. "Better to be safe than sorry, I should think."

"Yes, professor," the girl replies meekly as she walks the Professor out of the classroom and closes the solid wooden door behind her.

--

Half an hour later, Hermione labels her last star with a flourish and heaves a sigh of contentment. With this assignment taken care of, she can now start on her Advanced Charms essay. She glances at the clock hanging on the wall behind the teacher's table and huffs grumpily. If only Professor Sinistra hadn't thought of sending the other student over, she could be back in the Common Room in ten minutes and starting on that essay immediately.

She rubs her eyes tiredly and yawns, more exhausted than she'd expected to be. The N.E.W.T.s are still a long while away, but the professors have certainly been piling assignment after assignment on the seventh-years, expecting no less than Exceeds Expectations grades. Just this morning, Professor Vector had reprimanded Terry Boot for submitting class work that was only worth an Acceptable mark. The standards have been set, and Hermione fully intends to surpass them all.

Yawning once again, she unhurriedly packs her telescope and star chart in her school bag and after glancing at the clock once again, decides that there should be enough time for her to read up for her Advanced Charms essay. Flitwick has devoted the first month of school into studying the history of long-established charms and has assigned each seventh-year to write about different incantations. She picks up the library's copy of _An Anthology of Eighteenth Century Charms_ from the floor next to her bag and after a moment's hesitation, settles herself down behind Professor Sinistra's desk. Surely the kind professor wouldn't fault her for using her desk, just for the simple task of reading.

The professor's chair is comfortable enough, and Hermione sets the heavy book down unto the table and opens the cover, the smell of old parchment engulfing her nostrils. Quickly, she flips to her marked page and begins to lose herself in the words.

_The Hormorphus Charm is an age-old spell that is still being used at present. It is said to have been invented and first successfully used in 1393, the year in which the steadily growing numbers of werewolves were beginning to pose a threat to wizarding society …_

--

Draco takes his time climbing up the stairs leading to the top of the Astronomy Tower, all the while frowning in displeasure of having his quiet solitude disrupted by this meaningless task of having to fetch a student. He was simply at the wrong place at the wrong time, having been caught by Professor Sinistra while on the way out for a nighttime stroll around the grounds of the school.

"Mister Malfoy. Since you're already awake and roving around the school, I'd greatly appreciate it if you could take time out of your unquestionably busy schedule tonight and go up to the Astronomy Toer at two. One of my students is up there completing some work, and I'd like you to escort her back to her Common Room," she'd so imperiously asked before striding off, not even having the courtesy to wait for him to process her demands properly.

He grunts softly at the image of the haughty looking professor staring at him in the middle of the corridor, books in her arms. For obvious reasons, he could not decline the request. And at least she had left him well alone after he'd acquiesced to her instructions without inquiring as to why he was walking around the school, alone, at one in the morning in the first place.

Reaching the top of the stairs, he realises with a jolt that this is where …_ it_ had happened. He can remember it clearly, almost as though it had just happened yesterday. His frantic panting as he ran up the stairs, his perfectly executed Disarming charm aimed at his now deceased Headmaster, his fear that the Dark Lord would carry out his promise of murdering his family if he didn't do what was instructed of him. His heart pounds furiously against his ribcage as he recalls the blind terror of that fateful night. And the help that was extended to him by the one whom he was sent to kill but simply could not.

A shudder of disgust runs up his spine as he remembers the details. Greyback was there, that filthy animal. And Severus Snape rushing to his aid, carrying out the deed that he simply could not find it in himself to do. And even though Snape was revealed to be a spy for Dumbledore posthumously immediately after the battle, Draco was unable to feel any hatred for the man. After all, even though the Slytherin professor had betrayed his trust, Draco is still indebted to him. He was the one who'd really cared for the young student, who'd willingly destroyed his own morality to protect the fragile innocence of the youth.

Sighing heavily, Draco shakes his head in an attempt to rid all the horrible memories. He has enough on his plate already, and these old nightmares will do him no good. Taking a while to compose himself, he lifts his slightly trembling hand to open the hefty door in front of him.

--

The pale boy enters the Astronomy classroom stealthily without making a sound, not even while opening the heavy and undoubtedly hinge-rusty door. The first thing his sharp grey eyes notice is the lumpy school bag on one of the few tables arranged haphazardly in the classroom. With a quick scan around the room, he finds the student he is to babysit seated behind the teacher's table, her long curls tumbling all over her shoulders and the work surface as she is sleeping face down, her arms as her makeshift pillow.

Stepping forward, he inspects the student napping so soundly before him. After two weeks of endless watching, he can pick out those long umber locks anywhere. But he had to be sure. And so, he warily circles the slumbering student until he is absolutely certain.

It's Granger.

Smirking to no one in particular, he makes his way back to the tables and gracefully lifts himself up on one with her school bag carelessly thrown on it. Folding his long legs into a crossed-legged position on the desk, he notices a roll of parchment sticking out and deftly picks it out with his slender fingers. It's her star chart.

He looks over it, noticing a small mistake in her labelling of planets. Any other person would have simply overlooked it, but not him because he alone knows the full value of details, and how it is always the smallest of details that successfully complete the biggest and most elaborate of plans.

Her small neatly printed writing appeals to him greatly, a welcome change from the elegant cursive script that people around him always seem to write in. He reads her entire assignment thrice, making sure that no other corrections would need to be made except for that one small inaccuracy. She'd mixed up the names of two of Saturn's moons, Phoebean and Iapetus, undoubtedly because she must have been quite tired when completing the star chart. The years spent with Granger as a fellow classmate have taught him that when at least it comes to academics, she is utterly incapable of stupid blunders.

Swiftly rolling the parchment back a tight furl and sticking it into her bag in one fluent motion, he repositions himself on the table and stretches out, lying down on the hard surface of the table and using his hands as a means of cushioning his head. He turns to observe at the dozing girl and after some time, his eyelids grow heavy as he himself slips into a dreamless slumber, the first in many fitful, nightmare-ridden nights.

--

As though someone had shocked her into waking, Hermione jerks awake, lifting her head off of her sore arms in a sudden lurch. Her brain, still half-asleep, takes a while to process her surroundings as her eyes slowly adjust to the darkness. The only illumination is provided by the moonlight streaming in through the large window, all the candles having been burnt out for some time already.

After a few blinks to clear the cobwebs of sleep from her eyes, she realises that there's someone in the classroom with her. She can make out a body lying on the one of the tables, her schoolbag next to his or her crossed ankles. She's almost sure that it's a boy, with the long black pants and large shiny expensive shoes. And he certainly isn't dead, she can see the flat chest rising and falling consistently. Frowning, she cautiously rises up the chair and flips her book close.

"Morning, Granger," the familiar drawl rings in her ears, catching her as she's halfway up.

"Malfoy?" She squints, and chastises herself for not noticing the white blond head of hair sooner. She turns to look at the clock – quarter to three. Gasping at the lateness of the hour, she bursts out, "Why didn't you wake me? I could've started on Professor Flitwick's essay long ag-"

"Calm yourself down, Granger. I refuse to drag your body back down to the infirmary should you pass out in shock," he languidly replies, still lying down on the table. "And to answer your question, I didn't wake you because you looked like you needed the rest."

"But that's not going to finish my assignment for me! This is preposterous! I –," she catches herself and then, "Why're you here?"

"A thank you would be nice," he fluidly lifts himself up and swings his legs off the table to face her, his silver grey eyes glittering under the moonlight. "Sinistra sent me. I'm to _escort_ you to your Common Room."

"Oh," was all Hermione could manage. She picks at the cover of the library book before her for a while. "So … were you awake this whole time?"

"Not really," he replies simply, and she takes it to mean that he'd probably fell asleep for a short period too.

"Well … thanks," she returns, before hastily adding, "again."

A light chuckle escapes his lips, and she's perturbed by how this simple action of laughing causes a slight blush to creep up her neck. Realising how stupid she must look, standing behind the Professor's desk when she has no right to, Hermione sidesteps her way out of the narrow space between the heavy chair and the grand wooden table and slowly, but surely, makes her way to her bag that is seated rather near the pale boy.

"I'd say you needed that bit of sleep more than you think, Granger," he says, narrowing his eyes to inspect her face closely as she steps out of the darkness and into the moonlight. "You don't look quite like Death as you did in Arithmancy this morning."

She allows a small smile on her lips, understanding that there was no malice behind his words. "Yes, well," she reaches the table and avoids his sharp eyes, choosing instead to quickly tie her thick curls into a loose bun and try to fit the large library book into her bag. "I was up late last night. Was trying to start on an essay for Muggle Studies."

"Ah yes," he continues watching her, his pale pink lips curved in an amused smirk. "I don't understand why you chose that subject, Granger. After all, you are a Muggleborn. What could you possibly learn that you don't already know?"

"I like the subject," Hermione returns easily as she proceeds to shove the thick book in, evidently not caring if she rips the shoulder bag apart. "It's interesting to see the wizards' take on Muggles and their way of life."

He observes as the petite Gryffindor continually tries to push the book into her bag and cocks his eyebrow when she swears at the inanimate object, giving it a slap before giving up. In her attempts to fit the thick tome into her satchel, her hair had fallen out of place and gentle brown ringlets were tumbling all over the sides of her face.

"By the way, I took a gander at your star chart. Hope you don't mind," he idly breaks the short silence that had transpired between the two.

She whips her head up to look at him properly, a curious frown on her face. "You seem to have taken an immense interest in my school work lately, Malfoy."

"I cannot help being inquisitive, Granger," he counters smoothly as he rakes his hand through his hair, shining so bright and silvery under the dim light cast by the moon. "You should thank me. Again. Because I noticed a mistake."

"Where?" She immediately snatches the roll of parchment sticking out of her bag and scans through the entire chart, rereading all the names of moons and planets and stars that she'd filled out not more than two hours ago. On her second check through, Hermione realises her error. How had this escaped her keen eyes when she was completing the chart?

Whipping her writing materials out, she carefully dips the magnificent quill, a present from Ron, into the inkpot and makes the appropriate corrections in her small neat script. Packing the things back into her satchel, she avoids his lingering gaze and satisfied smirk again as she thanks him once more, the second time in ten minutes.

He leaps off the desk, landing on his feet with a sort of lithe grace that Hermione had always associated with cats. Making his way to the door, he opens it and stands at the doorway, an eyebrow raised and his eyes sparkling under the moonlight. "Coming?"

She stares at him for a while before hurriedly grabbing her bag and the chunky library book and shuffling towards him. He backs against the door, leaving her more than enough space to walk past him and out of the classroom. "We need to l-"

"You underestimate me, Granger," Malfoy dryly interrupts as he closes the door behind him and with a wave of his wand, the booming sound of a bolt clicking into place echoes in the tall tower. Without another word, he nods at her, signalling for her to lead the way down.

--

Reaching the last step, the two students walk, side by side in complete silence, through the first corridor. Though the both of them may not know each other well enough, they're fully aware that the other is thinking about the vicious fight that had occurred in that very corridor almost two years ago.

Draco chooses not to mention anything, but senses her normally slightly hunched posture stiffening as they amble through it, their soft footsteps sounding like gunshots in the empty and elaborately decorated hallway.

All of a sudden, the two pairs of footsteps reduces to just one, the sole clicking of his expensive dragon skin shoes leaves him with that vacant feeling that he'd gotten quite acquainted with over the past year. Turning, he sees that the Gryffindor has made her way to the right side of the corridor and is bent over, seemingly to inspect the wall. He slowly walks towards her, marvelling at the innocence on her face as she stares at a point on the wall.

"What are you doing?" He asks none too politely. It's far too late for him to even consider adding pleases and thank yous.

She looks up at him and he's slightly taken aback by the intensity of the emotions behind her hazel brown eyes. "Look," she tears her eyes away from his and points to a black spot on the wall. It looks like something had exploded there. "That's where a Killing Curse that missed me ended up at."

Ever since he could remember, Draco could always count on his quick wits for a fast retort of any sort. But in this moment, standing next to Granger and staring at a spot on the wall that was induced by something that might've very well killed her in a fight that _he_ had started two years ago, he realised that he had absolutely nothing to say. The true implications of his past mistakes begin to crash on him, harder and harder, like millions of waves crashing against a rock and wearing it down.

"Don't," her quiet voice cuts in on his thoughts.

"Don't what, Granger?" He manages to maintain his regular calm exterior, even at the face of such brutal guilt and remorse.

"Don't blame yourself."

And like a bursting dam, all the self-condemnation and contrition flows out. He tries to reel them back in but it's like wading in quicksand; the more he tries, the harder it gets. He can feel his heartbeat quickening. He can feel sweat beads starting to form. He can feel his face heating up, an angry red travelling slowly up his pale sharp face, contorted in an expression that is unfamiliar to him.

"H- How can you … live like this?" He stutters, avoiding her questioning brown eyes. Draco isn't sure that he should continue, that he should explain himself. Because for once in his life, he doesn't have a clue as to what he might say. His mouth was working faster than his head.

Fortunately, she understood him perfectly. Looking back down at the black mark on the wall, she fingers it lightly, her skin grazing over the small rough patch drowning in the smooth sea of beige marble.

"I just … try, you know. It's difficult … but it's the best we can do."

He lifts his head up, brushing his golden hair away from his face. With some difficulty, he manages to bring his eyes to look at hers and immediately, he wishes that he had not done so. Because her eyes, two glittering pits of deep rich chocolate, are sparkling under the dim wavering candlelight of the corridor; tears of pain and sadness are threatening to fall. Suddenly, he feels compelled to say something, anything that would help ease the misery that he sees so clearly in her eyes. He fumbles mentally, tripping over a million words but not knowing which are the right ones.

"I'm … sorry."

--

Hermione looks up at the boy standing before her, his face in a deep-set frown. The apology he'd just made floats around in her head, it is as though she cannot help but relive that moment over and over again. Draco Malfoy said sorry.

Her eyes well up even further and one drop of tear escapes, leaving a wet trail down her one of her flushed cheeks. She notices his right hand twitch a bit but after she blinks, all she sees is the same hand hanging down his side. Maybe she'd imagined it. It was probably the tears.

Hurriedly, she blinks the tears away and rubs her face, discreetly wiping the tear track off her warm cheek. Unbeknownst to her, he'd seen her defiant struggle at an attempt to be brave, to not break down and cry in front of him. She sniffs softly, and then adjusts the strap of her bag that is weighing down hard on her right shoulder as she shifts the position of the heavy Charms book on her left arm.

"It's all right," she replies, valiantly trying to smile normally. "I- It was such a long time ago anyway. I mean," she fidgets with the strap of her bag. "We're not like … before."

He doesn't say anything but continues staring at her, his eyes now back to its expressionless colour of grey. The short minute of silence extends into a longer moment and she starts to feel a blush crawling up her neck, especially since the pair of silver grey eyes has been fixed on her the whole time; never blinking, never flinching.

"Uh," she tries to think of something to say. For a split-second, she wonders if he realises the absurdity of the current situation. Two students, notoriously known as enemies, are standing in the middle of a school corridor, simply staring at each other.

"Forgiving is one thing, Granger. Forgetting is another," he finally murmurs, his eyes still trained on hers.

"Well," she tries to express her thoughts succinctly. "I think the forgetting part will still take some time."

A flash of a smirk ghosts across his face and he straightens up, his posture reverting to its original haughty stance. It seems to her that what she said, whatever it was, seemed enough for him. Hermione understands that Malfoy isn't looking for an outright pardon, she knows that he thinks himself too far gone for a ramification so lenient. But her response was enough for him to gather himself back together, and so that is enough for her too. At least for the night.

Before she can stop it, a yawn escapes her. Her eyelids start to droop a little and she shifts the book in her arm again, giving herself something to do so that she will not end up falling asleep on the spot.

"Let's go," Malfoy nods at her and turns, leading the way down the corridor. The heels of his expensive shoes clack obscenely against the marble floor and slowly; her gentle muffled footsteps join his. The two walk together in a hushed understanding, each fully aware of the other's naked thoughts.

--

Twenty minutes later, Hermione slows down and stops in front of the large painting of the Fat Lady in a pink silk dress, the entrance to the Gryffindor Common Room. She stares at the snoring Far Lady for a while, not knowing how to bid the other boy goodbye, if she should even bid the other boy goodnight. The walk to the Gryffindor Tower and subsequent climbing up the stairs to the seventh floor was quiet and awkward, punctuated by her soft grunts of fatigue as they were ascending the steps.

Carefully, she turns to look at him. His almond-shaped eyes, though dull and emotionless, now no longer hide underneath his previously perpetually slightly furrowed pale brows.

"So," she begins delicately. To her horror, she finds that she can't seem to think of anything else to add on to it. Frantically, her brain whirs into action as she tries to think of something.

A small smirk lifts his lips up a little as he makes his amusement evident. "Goodnight, Granger," he replies, cutting her incoherent mumbling off. "Go sleep."

Hermione nods and gives a soft 'goodnight' back before walking off to the now awake portrait that has been watching the entire scene unfold before her curiously. "Butterbeer," she whispers to the Far Lady, who shoots a suspicious glance at Malfoy before swinging open, revealing a round opening in the thick wall.

"Granger."

Hermione turns back as she lifts one leg up, preparing to step over and into the Common Room. The Fat Lady lets out a 'hurrmph' of frustration but Hermione ignores it. "Yes?"

Malfoy stares back at her, his expression unreadable. She wonders how anybody can truly say that they understand the boy standing a distance away from her, especially when he seems to never show his true emotions.

"Thanks," he returns shortly and nods.

She smiles at him, simply because she did not know what else to do. He nods again, and she takes that as her cue to leave. With another hasty backward glance at him, the Fat Lady abruptly swings the portrait shut and imperiously straightens herself up before him, folding her arms across her generous bosom and staring down at him.

--

Draco remains in front of the hidden entrance to the Gryffindor Common Room for a while, just to make sure that nobody else comes out. He has a strong inkling that all Common Rooms were built the same way – with only one entrance.

"What are you still doing here? Go on, boy! I don't know what business you have, making a Gryffindor girl so upset! I see your colours, I know what House you belong to. Now go back befor-"

He clears his throat loudly, quelling her into a subdued silence. "Good day," he finally replies with a sarcastic smirk that only serves to infuriate her further.

"Why, you little snot …"

Draco turns on his heel and walks away, back to his own Common Room, apparently indifferent to the Fat Lady's shrieking remonstrations after him. His cloak billows behind his lean body as he takes long strides down the stairs and back into the Entrance Hall. Turning abruptly, he makes his way towards the dungeons, ignoring all the creaks and sudden bangs that echo around him. After having spent years walking down the same path back to the Slytherin Common Room, he's gotten accustomed to the eerie noises and creepy atmosphere of the lower floor.

And as he reaches the blank stone wall, dark and damp and engraved with a small snake at the top, he finds himself thinking about the night's events and how, strangely enough, the bulky burden that has been weighing on his shoulders for the past year or so seems to have lightened up considerably. Loosening up and marvelling at just how easy it is to relax his body now, Draco mutters the password and the hidden door slides open. Stepping in easily, the door closes behind him with a loud thud that reverberates around the damp walls of the basement.

Silently, he crosses the empty Common room to his dormitory, where Nott and Zabini are sound asleep.

Or not.

Pricking his sharp ears, Draco notices a third set of snoring, the deep gentle breaths of a slumber undoubtedly belonging to a girl, coming from Zabini's four-poster bed that has its drapes yanked shut.

Smirking to himself, he takes his cloak off and hangs it in the closet, then proceeds to strip as he prepares to take a quick shower before sleeping.


	7. A Little Spot of Trouble

**Author's Note:** Sorry for taking so long! Have just been swamped with work, assignments are all due next week. :( It's going to be a busy busy week for me.

Am not too happy with this chapter. It's a little too short for my liking but I've been too tired to do any additional scenes whatsoever. And please excuse any errors as well, my editing might've been a little sloppy considering I did it in the middle of the night. :)

Hope you'll like it though. Read and review, of course!

**Chapter Seven:**

**A Little Spot of Trouble**

He's staring at her again.

She can almost feel it burning right through her skin, as though he's trying to strip her layer by layer, to see her as she really is and to read her thoughts.

It seems as though he's making no attempt to hide it now. He's staring at her openly in class, in front of Blaise Zabini and Michael Corner and Terry Boot and Ernie Macmillan and Susan Bones.

Hermione keeps her head high and her eyes trained on Professor Vector, even though all she's wanted to do for the past hour was to look right back at those grey eyes, to confront him, to ask him what he's done to her because ever since that night at the Astronomy Tower, she has been thinking of him more than ever.

It's been exactly three weeks after their late night in the Astronomy Tower and though she's been making an effort to steer clear of him whenever possible, she still finds a little traitorous bit of herself hoping that whenever she turns a corner, he will be there. That whenever she goes to the back of the library to study, he will be there. That whenever she walks down a corridor, he will be there. In short, a part of her wants to see him, that illogical part of her with no common sense whatsoever. And Hermione Granger, if anything, was born with the common sense of a matured adult.

So needless to say, she's been avoiding him. Avoiding his constant burning gaze, his little smirks when she quickly passes a momentary glance at him, his overwhelming presence when he is near her.

Yet he hasn't been making things easier for her. Though successful in keeping away from him during meals and weekends and such, she's simply unable to do the same in their small, shared seventh-year classes. With an average of six to seven students in a class, running away is not an option.

And so, she improvises by sitting as far away from him as possible.

Presently, in Advanced Arithmancy, she's sitting at the far end of the classroom, sharing a table with Neville, Ernie and Susan. She fights to pay attention solely to Professor Vector, who is currently standing in front of a complicated number chart, asking for them to decipher it.

"Mr Malfoy, if you will. What would be the simplest method to use when deciphering this chart?" Professor Vector's voice cuts across the room, directed at the slim boy lounging on his chair.

Hermione turns her head slightly, just so she can see him without actually having to face him. He has one arm rested on the table behind him as he's leaning against it, giving the impression that he doesn't care. His face sports a bored expression and a slight smile, one that boasts of superior intellect and smug complacency. "Chaldean," he drawls, his monotonous tone making it clear that he finds the question ridiculously easy to answer. "Because the lesser known method doesn't have the number nine used in its calculations, unlike the more commonly used Agrippan. So for such an old number chart like that," and he waves his hand dismissively at the chart in front of the class, "the Chaldean method would be more suited for decipherment."

With nothing to critique about his perfect response, the aged Professor merely nods at him then continues to drone on about the assigned values of letters in the Chaldean Method and how it should be properly applied to the complex number chart.

"Homework," says Professor Vector, and most of the class groans. It seems as though the heavy burden of schoolwork will never be lightened. When one assignment is submitted, another is given immediately. "I want an essay on the history of the Chaldean Method and its inefficiencies that caused the invention of the Agrippa Method. I expect to see them on my desk next Tuesday morning."

Hermione scribbles unto her new planner, noting the submission date. Her brain rapidly skims through the Arithmancy books she has in her possession and a smile touches her lips. The book that Harry had gotten her in their fifth year, _New Theory of Numerology_, has three whole chapters dedicated to the abolishment of the older method. But even so, she knows that she'll run down to the library after Advanced Charms to see if there are any more books to substantiate her references. She is not one to leave her essay in the hands of one author. Every point has to be cross-referenced.

Advanced Charms is next, and Hermione groans inwardly. Another double period of Malfoy staring at the back of her head, as though trying to set her hair alight. She sighs as Professor Vector dismisses the class and she packs her things into her bag, walking quietly behind Ernie, Neville and Susan, all three complaining to each other about the extremely heavy workload this year. She will have to go back to her dormitory for her Charms texts and though there's no need to rush since Advanced Charms is a good hour away, she curses herself for not simply bringing the books along with her. It's a long walk back to the Gryffindor Tower, and the time could be fully utilised in the library. Sighing once again, she bids goodbye to the three and turns to walk towards the stairs.

"Where're you going, Hermione?" Neville asks, curiosity etched in the lines of his face. "We've got Advanced Charms next."

"Yeah, I just need to drop off my books in my dormitory. See you in Charms, all right?" She replies with a tired smile.

Neville Longbottom, now far from the once bumbling student he was before, nods in understanding. "I'll save you a seat then."

She nods and turns back to the stairs, climbing them slowly and wearily. And so for once in the past three weeks, Hermione, in her exasperation, fails to notice a pair of slate-grey eyes following her back.

--

"All right, I have to ask," Blaise murmurs as they seat themselves, once again, at the table furthest away from the front. "What is going on with you and Granger?"

Without looking at his friend, Draco furrows his brows in irritation. "What are you babbling on about, Zabini?"

"I'm not stupid, Malfoy. Or blind, for that matter."

"Did I say that you were?" the blond student replies smoothly as he continues facing the front, where Professor Flitwick has climbed up his stool and called for attention, where the umber-haired girl is seated at.

"You insinuated it," Blaise speaks in a low undertone while facing the front as well, giving the impression that both boys are listening to with rapt attention. Though upon closer inspection, one will notice that both pairs of eyes – one a dashing shade of silver-grey and the other, a sparkling rich brown – are streaked with complete boredom.

"Let's not be childish here, Zabini, and start accusing each other of doing things that he hasn't done," Draco mutters as his lips only move a little. He may look the perfect picture of studiousness but his sharp eyes betray his true apathy towards class.

"Like hell I am. Don't try to change the subject, Malfoy."

"What subject?"

Blaise pauses for a while as though calming himself down. Because if there is one thing he simply cannot stand about that smirking blond git of a friend, it is the fact that Draco Malfoy certainly knows how to play dumb.

"Your attempt at feigning innocence is extremely pathetic," he finally grounds out, all the while staring at the small Professor who is waving his wand, summoning the assignment due today. Blaise smirks a little as nine heavy rolls of tightly furled parchment zoom across the room and right into Flitwick's chest, causing the tiny Professor to lose his balance and topple right off the stool.

Draco chooses to remain silent and continues to face to front, watching as Granger and Longbottom help a flustered Flitwick back up.

"So?" And this time, Draco senses that Blaise has turned to him. "What's going on?"

The boy, with his white-blond hair catching the sunlight streaming in from the windows of the classroom, shakes his head slightly even as he is facing the front, now watching Flitwick starting on the new topic of Supersensory Charms and its different sub-categories.

"I don't know," he murmurs softly, so much so that Blaise has to strain his ears in order to hear him. "I just can't help but … look at her."

Blaise pauses for a moment, wading past all the snide comments normally associated with his sharp wit. "Do you … have … feelings … for her?"

"I don't know," Draco repeats, this time shifting his eyes to look at her, completely tuning Flitwick's definition of the Supersensory Charm. "It's just … it's different."

At this point, Blaise chooses not to pursue the matter. And so both boys, the only two Slytherins in the small Advanced Charms class of nine, stare at Flitwick who is demonstrating how to perform a Supersensory Charm. In a passing glance, it will look as though they are paying attention, listening intently to the small Professor standing on a stool.

But in reality, both of them are simply lost in their own worlds.

--

_Bloodcurdling screams ringing in his ears, crystal clear images of people in intense pain, green flashes flying around rapidly and tall hooded men in black cloaks. They fill his dreams at night, they haunt him. They surround him and linger in his thoughts, long after he has woken up. Every time the moon rises, his heart begins to thud rapidly in fear and loathing. Because with every minute that the moon remains glowing in the dark twilight, they become more and more real to him._

Draco sits up abruptly, his eyes flying wide open and his lips slightly parted. He is panting softly, his heart beating painfully against his ribcage. His broad chest feels strangely constricted. Heaving a deep sigh to slow his pounding heart, he draws his knees up and places his elbows on them. Leaning back against the headboard and his pillow, he rakes both hands through his tousled hair brusquely and closes his eyes.

Sleeping is never an issue to him. Never has been and never will be. Even as a pampered child, he had never found the inclination to sleep much, preferring instead to stay up in his father's library, reading and devouring information and watching his father as he worked. On several occasions, he would totter over to his mother's study and observe the lithe grace that seems to colour her every movement, subconsciously picking it up. His parents would hardly ever complain; him being their only child, they were more than happy to have him around.

Lucius taught him everything there was to know about the wizarding world while Narcissa gave him a different sort of education altogether. She taught him how to hold his head up high amidst troubles, how to summon charisma and allure in the matter of seconds, how to look and behave and be.

He wonders what they're doing right now. Sleeping, probably. Only he would be wide-awake at three in the morning, sitting up on his bed and thinking of his parents.

A breathy giggle drifts over to him from Blaise's bed before it is abruptly cut off. Without moving, a smile grows on Draco's pale lips. Another girl for Zabini means another conquest to be ticked off the rapidly shrinking list. His memory has served him extremely well and to Draco's knowledge, this is not the same giggle as he had heard two nights ago at one in the morning.

The bed opposite his starts to creak a little, and his smile grows bigger. When it comes to the luxuries of life, Draco was never one to judge. After all, how can one judge another's idea of pleasure seeking? Whatever Zabini does is his own business. Draco does not care in the slightest anyway.

As the creaking builds up into a faint rhythmic thudding, the pale boy, with his lean frame and sharp features, realises that his own body is reacting to the sounds of the affair going on directly opposite him. Sighing, he picks his wand up from his bedside table and with a languid wave; the hangings shut themselves, enclosing him in an unnatural darkness. Still, it does nothing to silence Zabini's low grunts of pleasure and the girl's muffled moans.

"Zabini, I would greatly appreciate it if you'd keep your voice down," Draco drawls with a smirk on his face, not caring about the immediate hushed 'shh!' and the abrupt ceasing of the steady creaking of the bed. He did not even care if he'd woken Nott up. All he knew is that he wanted silence. And he would never pass up on an opportunity to embarrass Zabini because sometimes, the boy just thinks that he's too good.

"Sorry, Malfoy. Didn't know you were awake," Blaise replies smoothly from within his own bed's drapes, and Draco can almost imagine the stunned look that must be on the girl's face.

"Yes, you imbecile," Draco replies.

"Ah, I apologized already, didn't I?" It seems as though the two boys are content with holding a conversation, even during such a potentially awkward moment. Draco almost laughs out loud at the hilarity of the situation. The girl must be getting rather huffy at Zabini now, daring to continue a conversation with his friend on a bed less than fifteen feet away.

"Go to sleep, Malfoy. I shall tell you about it in the morning," Blaise idly adds, seemingly not caring whether the naked girl possibly lying under his toned body would mind.

Smirking, he lies back down and pulls his comforter up to his chest. As he drifts off to sleep, an angry huff permeates the silence. Then a soft giggle, followed by a tender sigh of pleasure.

--

It's Wednesday morning and Hermione is eating her breakfast alone, accompanied only by her bulging schoolbag and the Daily Prophet propped up in front of her, leaning against a jug of pumpkin juice.

Nothing vaguely interesting catches her eye on the front page. There are articles about Kingsley's new reforms, all of which she is fully aware of, thanks to Harry and Ron's regular letters to her.

She flips to the second page and a headline printed in big bold letters scream out, 'NEW AUROR TO JOIN HARRY POTTER IN DEATH EATER SEARCH!'

Intrigued, she pulls the newspaper closer to her and reads.

_Ronald Bilius Weasley, famous for aiding Harry Potter in defeating He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named just a year ago, is rumoured to be joining the Ministry of Magic's newly improved Auror Office._

_While the spokesperson for the Ministry of Magic has insisted that the rumour is not true, there certainly have been speculations about Weasley's future, especially with his best friend, Harry Potter, working alongside the new Minister and his girlfriend, Hermione Granger, re-enrolled back in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for completion of her seventh and final year._

_A source close to the respected Weasley family divulges that the youngest Weasley son has indeed agreed to work under the new Minister, having rejected the offer several times before._

_The source also claims that one of the major factors resulting in his quiet decision is the fact that because Granger decided to go back to Hogwarts, Weasley has been feeling "lonely" and desires to travel._

_It has also been theorised that should the rumour be fact, Weasley will be headed to Albania with Potter and the older Malfoys, in an attempt to seek out any remaining Death Eaters still loyal to deceased You-Know-Who._

_Many have expressed surprise and disbelief when it was announced by the Minister that Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy would be assisting him and Harry Potter in their search for Death Eaters. However, Ministry staff members are fiercely defending the Malfoys who were once followers of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named._

"_Everybody deserves a second chance," says Mafalda Hopkirk from the Improper Use of Magic office. "They've put in a tremendous amount of help so far and I believe that they will continue to assist our Minister and Harry Potter."_

_The Malfoys were cleared of all charges against them during the infamous two month-long Death Eater trials held by the Ministry earlier this year. Perhaps their strongest defence was Harry Potter, who had testified for them. Their 18-year-old son, Draco Malfoy, has also resumed studying in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

Hermione puts the paper down slowly, her brain whirring with the information it had just processed. Ron? Aurors? But he hadn't mentioned anything of that sort to her in his letter that she had received just yesterday morning. Of course, it could just be a rumour. As her boyfriend, he certainly would not leave out such important information.

Yet the miniscule seeds of doubt have already planted themselves in her mind. Getting up quickly, Hermione runs off back to her dormitory, hoping that she will have enough time to scribble a hasty letter to Ron before Advanced Herbology starts. She knows how much Professor Sprout hates latecomers.

--

A pair of silvery-grey eyes follows her as she dashes off through the large doors, not even stopping to nod politely at those goggling students who would weakly wave to her every chance they get, as she always does. He had never understood and probably never will understand why she chooses to humour those gaping imbeciles who had only heard of her when the war was over.

Stupid idiotic spineless gits, that's what they all are.

"Do you want to follow her?" Blaise's voice cuts in on the mental image of those halfwits being skewered, writhing comically in exaggerated pain and agony.

"Sorry?"

"Don't act like you didn't hear me, Malfoy," Blaise rolls his eyes as his neat rows of teeth sink into a piece of toast with a thick layer of jam on it. "You're not deaf."

Draco chooses not to answer.

"Hypothetically speaking, if you _are_ infatuated with Granger, I must remind you of the consequences," Blaise continues, carefully wiping away any errant crumbs around his lips.

Now it is Draco's turn to roll his eyes.

"I'm quite serious, Malfoy. I don't care who you choose to be fond of, I'm in no place to judge. But mind you, our fellow Housemates may think differently."

He sighs and bites into a particularly crunchy piece of bacon, taking his time to chew and swallow his mouthful. "Zabini, I'm not stupid. I know what everyone's talking about in regards to my family and I." Draco sips on his glass of cool water and then continues. "Nothing will happen. And even if it does, I'm more than capable of handling it."

Blaise stares at his friend for a moment, as though contemplating whether to carry on with the topic that Draco did not really touch on. Then he shrugs, his shoulders moving fluidly like calm waves in the ocean. "Whatever you say, Malfoy. Don't say I didn't warn you, that's all."

The pale boy scoffs lightly and then nods his appreciation. Standing up, he grabs his books and looks down at Blaise, still observing him carefully. "Let's go. It's Herbology now."

The other boy joins him at his side and together, they stroll out of the Great Hall amidst the evidently hushed whispers around them, making their way towards the greenhouses, trailing behind some of their Ravenclaw classmates.

--

The youngest Weasley boy was at home when Hermione's letter arrived tied to the leg of one of the school's owls. It had fluttered down to his window and landed gracefully on his desk, interrupting his work.

Having taken the letter and sent the bird away, Ron stares at the tightly rolled piece of parchment in his hands, crumpled and hastily sealed as though the sender was in a great rush to post it to him. And only one person in Hogwarts would write him so urgently.

'Hermione.' The name of his love floats through his head and he feels a dull blow to the stomach. For her to write so hurriedly … something must be wrong.

He quickly unfurls the parchment and scans it, his heart sinking lower and lower with each new sentence. It is a short letter, briskly succinct and messy, a first for Hermione, and with only one question posed to Ron. And yet after reading it through twice, he feels as though someone had reached into his chest and is now squeezing his heart tightly.

"HARRY!" He yells out, knowing that his best friend is probably in the living room reading, having a couple of days left to go before the next trip to Albania. "HARRY, COME HERE QUICK!"

Footsteps thunders up the stairs and Harry Potter bursts through Ron's door, effectively slamming it against the wall behind it. "What's so urgent?" Harry asks, slightly breathless from running up the stairs. "I was reading a re-"

Ron ignores Harry's description of the book in question and thrusts Hermione's letter at him before sinking down on to his bed, covering his face with his large hands. With the quick, erring skill of a Seeker, Harry catches it deftly and, shooting a momentary look of curiosity at Ron, proceeds to read it.

_Ron,_

_I just read in the Daily Prophet that you're becoming an Auror._

_If this is true, you (and Harry) have some explaining to do. __You didn't tell me? Why? How could you have lied to me?_

_I want to know everything. __It is the least you can do._

_Hermione_

Having read it thrice, just to make sure that what he thought he was reading was actually written, he slowly looks up at Ron who hasn't moved an inch. "You didn't tell her?" Harry asks, irrepressible disbelief on his face. "You … Ron … this is serious. I … How …"

"You think I didn't want to tell her?" Ron bursts out from within his hands and looks up at his friend. "You think I didn't want her to know?"

"Then … why di-"

"Because I didn't know _what_ to effing tell her, okay? I didn't know _how_ to tell her! Sh- She wouldn't want me to do it!"

"And you thought she wouldn't find out?" Harry frowns in incredulity. "This is Hermione we're talking about!"

"I wasn't thinking!"

"Evidently!" Harry places the letter back on the table and stares at Ron who is now staring at the wooden floor hopelessly. "So what're you going to do now? Go back and help George?"

"No!" And Ron stands up, a defiant look on his face and his fists clenched tightly at his sides. "I want to go with you and Kingsley, this is what I want to do!"

"What about Hermione? You know that she'll never let you do this. It's too danger-"

"I love her, Harry. But she has to accept that this is something I have to do," Ron replies steadfastly and then, in a quieter tone, he adds, "for Fred."

Harry walks over and claps a hand on Ron's shoulder. "She'll understand," he responds. "I just … You should've told her from the start."

"I know," Ron heaves a deep sigh. "So what am I going to do now?"

Harry looks at the distressed boy before him, and sighs. "You should see her, talk to her in person."

Ron looks up at Harry's sympathetic green eyes, his eyebrows slanted into a helpless frown. The raven-haired boy nods slowly, a consoling smile on his face. He knows Hermione as well as Ron does and with that in mind, he understands why the look on the other boy's face is one of fear and trepidation.


	8. The Night By The Lake

**Author's Note:** HELLO HELLO! School's finally ended but I've still got assignments due and my exams to study for, which is absolutely shit. :( But no matter, because I'm done with another chapter and I am quite happy with it indeed. I thought it was about time that something happened between our two favourite characters anyway, otherwise the story will just drag on and on.

Thanks for all the reviews so far! You guys have been great, really. :) Without you, I wouldn't even be half as motivated to continue writing. So keep on reviewing, yes?

Hope you will enjoy reading this chapter as much as I've enjoyed writing it. It's a long one, I'll tell you that.

* * *

**Chapter Eight:**

**The Night By The Lake**

Two days later, Hermione is sitting on her favourite armchair that faces the fireplace in the Gryffindor Common Room, reading about the magical uses of lovage in _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_. She lifts her gaze off the book and stretches her neck, hearing the loud cracks as she tilts her head from side to side. She is quite tired, having spent the entire day in the library finishing her Advanced Arithmancy and Advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts essays.

The Common Room is slowly emptying out; the students are all trickling off to their dormitories for bed. She huffs impatiently at the errant lock of hair that has escaped her tightly wound bun, and turns back to her book, waiting for everybody else to leave.

Because in a letter received just this morning, Ron had written her to wait for him in the Gryffindor Common Room at half past one, during which he will speak to her via Floo.

Nothing else was mentioned in the very short letter. She had checked it quite thoroughly, flipping it over and using her Revealer to see if he had written anything else. Nothing. Not even a small note to let her know whether the rumours were true or not. McGonagall had refused to take sides and thus, she could not find out anything from the Headmistress either. And Ginny does not know anything too, or so she tells Hermione.

In fact, the lack of information has been angering her. Is angering her. Who is he to keep such important news from her anyway?

"Goodnight, Hermione!" She looks up and sees Neville waving to her as he's climbing up the stairs to the seventh year boys' dormitory, holding a small plant pot with a small Flutterby bush in it. "Don't sleep too late."

"I won't," she replies with a smile. "Night, Neville."

She turns back to her book as she hears him climb the creaking stairs. Ginny had told her the other day that Neville is seeing Hannah Abbot. If that were true, that would certainly account for his recent joyous moods that, she must selfishly admit, has been making her feel even grumpier.

And then she sighs. Everybody else seems so happy and content while she … she spends her days and nights buried in her books and the little moments in between worrying incessantly about Ron. Especially in the recent days, since she'd read about him joining Harry.

It's not as though she is mad at him for deciding to go off and search for remaining Death Eaters. If anything, she is proud of him for doing something that would benefit everybody's safety. But to hide it from her … Hermione hates lies, and to think that her own boyfriend would lie to her …

She closes her eyes and shakes her head rather violently, trying to dispel all those negative thoughts. She would have to wait and see what happens when they talk.

"Don't shake your head like that, it might fall off," a familiar low voice rings in the Common Room.

Her eyes fly open. Ignoring an oncoming headache, she finds herself meeting a pair of warm blue eyes on a floating head in the fireplace, tinted green from the magic of the Floo powder.

"Hi," Ron almost shyly greets her when it seemed evident that she was not going to reply to his bad joke.

Hermione starts to untangle her crossed legs to sit on the floor but then decides against it. Better to be at a level of intimidation, she thinks. "Hi," she coolly responds, nodding her head once.

An awkward silence falls between them, with Ron not daring to look at her and Hermione simply staring at his head easily.

"So …" he breaks the quietness. "How … How have you been?"

She quirks an eyebrow. "How have I been?" She repeats calmly, yet Ron flinches. "Oh, I think I've been better, Ronald." And he flinches again. Like his mum, Hermione only calls him by his full name when she's angry. And even though it may not be obvious, he's not too stupid to tell that she is mad.

"Uh … okay," he falters, not really knowing what to say.

"Yes, Ronald. I've definitely been better," she replies in an even tone. "I'm currently swamped with homework which the Professors have simply been piling on. And not to mention the fact that I found, from the papers no less, that my own boyfriend has decided to run off and search for murderers without even telling me."

"Hermione, listen," he begins. "I wan-"

"What, Ron? You WANTED to tell me?" She finally bursts out. "You _wanted_ to tell me but _couldn't find the time_? Is that it? Or is it that you just thought _Oh well, better let Hermione find out by herself and make her worry herself to death_?"

"It's nothing like that!" He protests weakly. "It's just that I wa-"

"What, Ron? What is it that you wanted to do that you couldn't even tell me about this? This big decision that ought to be thought over carefully and ruminated on not just by you, but also by the people who care for you! What is-"

"IT'S FOR FRED, ALL RIGHT!" He shouts back, frustrated at her apparent lack of understanding. "I can't … I can't just sit back and … let those effing … those … they murdered Fred," he adds on quietly, as though pleading for her to hear him out.

At last, she slides down from the armchair and on to the floor, her face levelling Ron's. She looks at him for a while, aware of the fact that his eyes are sparkling rather brightly now. She does not comment on it, knowing that it will not make things better. "I'm sorry," she replies. "I should have known."

"Yeah," he nods his head slowly.

"But Ron …," she goes for another tack. "Please understand that I was hurt. I mean, you didn't tell me. And I thought … I didn't know what to think."

"I know, and I'm sorry," he apologises. "I guess … this was just something that I wanted to do by myself."

Hermione does not reply to that, merely choosing to continue looking at Ron. His blue eyes, his flushed cheeks, the smattering of freckles on his nose that she has grown to love. She does not know what to say, or what to think. No doubt, it will be dangerous. How can she just sit by and watch as one of the few she cares for knowingly walks into unknown perils?

He sighs. "I know what you're thinking, Hermione. I can take care of myself."

"Ron, it's not tha-"

"I have to do this, do you understand? This is something that I must do."

Her vision is now blurred by the welling of tears in her eyes that escape and form wet trails down her cheeks. Ron's head twitches a little, as though he was about to brush those glistening tears away before remembering that he is unable to. Hurriedly, she wipes the tears away roughly, and nods.

"I know. You do what you have to do."

"Hermione … I- I need your support," he says softly, his expression plainly showing his breaking heart at not being able to comfort her, at being the one who is causing her tears to fall.

"I need time, Ron," she replies slowly, sniffing. "You know that it will be dangerous, and I don't know how I will be able to forgive myself if something happens to you. I- I know why you're doing this, I really do. I just … Just give me some time, please."

And without warning, she lifts herself up from the ground and runs out of the Common Room, leaving her Herbology book on the ground and a very troubled Ron in the fireplace.

--

Everything is so quiet at two in the morning. Once again, he is walking alone in the school grounds, his voluminous black cloak sweeping over the freshly cut grass. The stars are shining brightly in the dark sky, each twinkling down happily, as though mocking him and the perpetual blankness that seems to follow him wherever he goes.

Turning sharply to his left, Draco walks with a knowing countenance, as though he knows the expansive school grounds like the back of his hand. And really, he does. With all the late night walks he has been having ever since school started in September, he doubts that there is any part of the school that he does not know of.

Even in the cold November night air, he is not chilly. Not even shivering in the slightest. While everybody else has taken out their thick winter jackets and coats, he still chooses to walk around in his Hogwarts uniform and his cloak, bought from some classy high-end boutique his mother frequents in France earlier this year.

Finally, he reaches where he had intended to go when he'd left his dormitory quietly just now. A large flat rock, perfect for sitting and watching over the entire lake, great for lying down and staring at the night sky. It is a long walk from the main school building, and hidden behind a large clump of tall trees. Even in the day, it would be rather difficult to see it. And so that over the past two months of retreating to this quiet part of the grounds, he has unofficially christened it _his_ hiding place.

Swiftly, Draco sits on it and places his feet on it as well, resting his long arms on his bent knees. He stares at his shoes for a while, gleaming under the moonlight. Dragon skin shoes, ordered directly from Romania. He gives it a careless flick and sighs, not bothering if he spoils the exquisite workmanship in any way. After all, he has three other pairs of footwear in his closet back in the dormitory and five others at home. Storeowners and managers and even designers themselves are always appalled by his careless indifference to the fine clothes he wears. How superficial.

Then again, that's not to say that he wasn't like them before.

Frowning slightly, he lies down and closes his eyes, cushioning his head with his pale hands. After doing some thorough thinking over the holidays, he had come to the realisation that he does not like the way he was before. And being a Malfoy, he immediately took action, cutting off all ties with those who'd only served to please him. Suck ups, he could do without.

In the process of leaving his old _friends_, he'd made some enemies along the way. But one can never please everyone and to be honest, he himself was never all that concerned with pleasing those who did not matter to him at all.

Suddenly, his ears prick at the soft sounds of someone walking on the wet grass. While hidden by the rustling of the leaves, the rhythmic footsteps are distinct. A flash of irritation runs through his body. It's probably just a couple looking for some privacy to engage in … intimacy. He listens a little harder, then realises that there is only one pair of footsteps. Who on earth can be taking a walk at a time like this?

Then he hears it. An almost inaudible gentle sniffle. Merlin, it's a crying girl. The worse thing after a horny couple would be a girl sobbing hysterically. He leaves his eyes closed, knowing that whoever it is will probably leave him alone. Nobody dares to approach him now, what with even more absurd rumours about him killing his Uncle Rodolphus flying around the Hogwarts. He may have never liked that blasted man, but he certainly wouldn't resort to murder.

"Malfoy?" The ever-so-familiar voice causes his heart to beat faster, his brain to pound harder, his lips to slowly curl into the slight smirk that he almost always never uses except when around her.

"Malfoy." This time, she sounds nearer.

"Hello Granger," he drawls, his eyes still closed. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Yes, well …" she replies, then tries to disguise another sniffle with a cough. Finally opening his eyes, he sits up and turns to her direction, noticing the way her ordinary brown tresses glows under the sporadic stabs of moonlight peeking through the leaves of the trees she is standing under.

Without saying a word, he moves to his left, making space for her on the rock. Then he turns back to the lake, watching it glistening. He will not verbally invite her to sit with him, but he finds himself hoping that she will understand his welcoming action of shifting and not walk away.

A minute later, soft steps approach him, and he is aware of her slight hesitance as she slowly lowers herself down on the rock, her warmth penetrating his skin. He doesn't say a word, choosing to bask in the comfortable heat that emanates from her body.

"A- Am I disturbing you?" She hushly says, as though afraid of breaking the silence. "If so, I'm sorry. I can go if you want me t-"

"You apologise too much, Granger," Draco replies with a small smirk as he turns to look at her, his silver grey eyes locking in on her glittering brown ones. "I want you to stay," he adds softly.

--

Slightly taken aback, all she can trust herself to do is smile, and is quite pleased and surprised to see him smile back. Albeit small, it was a true smile, one that she knew had never graced his sharp angular features before. She stares at him, not knowing what to say or do. And to make matters worse, he is staring right back at her, the smile still lingering at the corners of his lips.

And then the moment is broken. He turns away and lies back down on the large smooth surface of the rock, reverting to the position she'd seen him in just now – his hands behind his head, his knees bent and his feet placed on the rock. She looks down at him for a while then turns to the lake, shimmering and twinkling like a billion stars in the sky. She brings her knees to her chest and hugs them, her mind brimming with images of Ron. A smiling Ron. A laughing Ron. A tender Ron. A serious Ron. An angry Ron. An exhausted Ron. A blood splattered Ron. A dying Ron …

"So what brings you here in the middle of the night?" He interrupts her thoughts in his slow drawl that seems to calm her pounding heart. She doesn't reply, yet it seems as though he knows that she is troubled because she can feel his eyes on her, boring holes in her back, like he always does in classes. In fact, it almost feels as though they are back in class.

"What did you think about Babbling's lesson on the dalrunes?" He asks about their last class together yesterday – Advanced Ancient Runes with Professor Babbling. She hides a growing smile from him, knowing that this is his way to cheering her up.

She takes a deep breath and replies in what she hopes is how she normally sounds. "Stop calling it dalrunes. Professor Babbling was so annoyed when you insisted on calling the runic script that."

"Yes, well. She's an idiot," he responds simply.

"No, she's not," Hermione turns to look down at him, still lying on the rock looking so relaxed and easy. "She's very …" She suddenly finds herself unable to complete the sentence. Bathsheba Babbling is a witch of an enormous amount of intelligence but she can sometimes be a little flighty.

"Do continue, Granger. I'm very interested to know what you think of Babbling." A hint of smugness colours his tone and without thinking, she impulsively reaches down to smack him playfully on the arm.

Upon doing so, she immediately withdraws her hand, a stunned look on her face. He, on the other hand, merely looks down at the spot she'd hit him lightly at, then back at her, and gives her another smile, this time larger than the one before.

"I- I- I'm sorr-"

"Why do you keep apologising, Granger?" He smirks at her, his light grey eyes twinkling impishly. "First, you thank me even when thanks isn't needed. And now you apologise when sorry isn't needed."

He sits up, his eyes never leaving hers, then draws himself closer to her, so much so that their faces are mere inches apart. "Are you scared of me, Granger? Intimidated, perhaps?" He whispers softly, his eyes breaking contact with hers to wander around her facial features.

She can smell him; that distinct smell of expensive cologne mingled with hints of freshly laundered clothes and moist morning grass. The pleasant smell overwhelms her nostrils, diffusing into her bloodstreams and flowing straight into her pounding heart. Once again, she finds herself at a complete loss of words in front of Draco Malfoy.

As sudden as it had happened, he pulls away and turns to look at the sparkling lake, and she suddenly feels cold. "So, you were saying about Babbling?" He pipes up casually, as though nothing had happened.

"Uh …" She works her brain furiously, trying to come up with something witty. Something clever. Clever. "Professor Babbling is … clever," she finishes lamely, inciting another smirk from him.

"Clever, you say?" He replies with a teasing smirk. "I suppose you can say that. But she can be quite stupid too."

Hermione frowns slightly at the flippant manner regarding his talking about the Professor. To her, respect is always given to teachers, excepting that idiot Trelawney who is really such a fraud anyway. "If you're talking about how she thought she'd lost her quill when it was used to hold her hair up, I will concede that she can be rather absent-minded at times. But she certainly isn't stupid."

He doesn't reply, instead choosing to look at her amusedly. Knowing that it will be better to get another word in before he does, she continues. "And I thought the lesson on the _Dalecarlian runes_," emphasising on the proper name of the runic script, "was very interesting. How it was derived from the medieval runes but combined with Latin runes."

A pause. Then, "What she failed to include in her lesson is that while the dalrunes' script was combined with Latin ones, Latin letters eventually and progressively replaced more and more of the traditional characters. In its last stage, almost every rune has been replaced with a Latin letter."

Hermione sits in silence for a while, absorbing the new information that Professor Babbling certainly had not mention in the lesson. Though she may not be Draco Malfoy's best friend, she knows him well enough to see that when it comes to schoolwork, he is almost, if not, fully up to par with her.

"How'd you know this?" She asks.

"My father has a book on dalrunes in the library at home," he replies, still looking out at the lake. "I used to read whenever I was bored."

She notices that his reply has taken on a softer and fonder tone, as though the thought of home is stripping away the layers of his outward arrogance and indifference.

"Well then, you must've been bored often. You seem to know a lot about everything," she responds.

"Not everything," and she watches as he closes his eyes and lies back down on the rock, using his slim hands as a makeshift pillow. She looks back out at the lake then, after a moment of hesitation, leans back into a lying position next to him, clasping her hands on her stomach and letting her hair splay out underneath her.

"So I noticed that you've been avoiding me in the past few weeks," he remarks nonchalantly. "Care to divulge your reasons?"

Hermione pauses to think over her answer for a while, then counters with another question. "And I've noticed that you've been staring at me in the past few weeks. Care to divulge _your_ reasons?"

"Touché, Granger," he replies with a hint of a smirk.

"So tell me why."

"I believe I asked you your question first," he smoothly answers back.

She fidgets for a while, playing with the collar of her robe. The both of them remain in a comfortable silence for a while, lying on the rock, side by side, staring up at the bright stars that dot the night sky.

--

"I don't know," she finally speaks. "I don't know why I've been avoiding you … but … I don't know."

"Oh come on, Granger. I know you better than that."

From the corner of his eye, he sees her turn her head slightly towards him, but he keeps his eyes trained on the dark blanket that is the sky.

"Do you, really?" She asks him softly and in a tone that seems to hide secrets. He turns to look back at her, and notices that her cheeks are rather flushed.

"What do you mean?"

"Things … things are different now, right Malfoy? I mean … between us. It has changed."

A moment of silence falls upon them. "I think so," Draco finally replies.

"That's why you've been staring at me?"

Slowly, he nods. "That's why I've been staring at you."

And she exhales a long breath, as though she's been keeping her breath in as they were talking. She turns back to the stars, yet her eyes are unfocused and dreamy. "That's why I've been avoiding you too."

"Because things have changed?"

She nods in reply and Draco watches as her eyelids flutter to a close. A billion things are running through his mind right now but all he can think of, all he can see clearly is the girl beside him. His former enemy, and now? He doesn't know. For once, Draco Malfoy isn't sure.

"I'm scared," she says with her eyes still closed.

"Of what?"

Another pause. "I don't know."

He lets out a small chuckle, and she opens her eyes to flash an indignant look at him. "You don't seem to know anything, do you Granger?"

The affronted look on her face softens, and soon she is chuckling along with him. Seconds later, the laughter is replaced by another bout of quietness, comfortable yet charged with questions and the longing for the right answers.

"Don't worry, Granger," Draco looks at the girl lying next to him. "I don't know either."

And they continue lying down on the large flat rock by the lake, side by side, staring into each other's eyes. One of the tentacles of the giant squid breaks the surface of the water, but neither of them notices it.

--

"So you never did answer my question, Granger."

Hermione raises her eyebrows as she looks at the darkened sky. "I'm sure I did."

"No," he speaks slowly with his eyes closed, as though it might be a little difficult for her to understand him, exasperating her. "I meant my first question."

"Oh."

She does not say anything else, yet she feels as though he is able to understand her perfectly anyway. Not because she knows him well, but simply because she knows.

"It's Weasley, I presume," he drawls confidently.

She opens her mouth to say something, and then closes it again, not knowing if what she really wanted to reply will be offensive towards him.

They keep silent for a bit. "Don't worry," he continues. "I'm not jealous."

She turns to him so fast that her neck cracks, and her hand flies up to massage it. "Ow," she lets out, frowning at the amused look on his sharp, angular features.

He smirks. "This must be about Weasley joining Potter and my parents, am I right?"

Spot on. She gapes in wonder as to how he is able to read her so easily, to know exactly what is bothering her. For a moment, the pain in her neck is completely forgotten.

"I'm not stupid, Granger," he adds. "I read The Daily Prophet too, even though it's absolutely untrustworthy journalism. And my mum writes me frequently."

She keeps quiet, massaging her neck gently. "He says he's doing it for Fred," she finally replies in a subdued tone, her eyes still trained on a particularly bright star.

"And you think that he's being irrational and foolish," he continues for her.

Not knowing how to reply, she simply nods in agreement. Waves of rising anger and indignation at Ron seem to crash against her logic, and she bursts out. "I … It's dangerous and … he needs to think this through! He needs to think, to really carefully lo-"

"I would've thought that you'd understand us men better considering you've spent seven whole years with two boys," he swiftly interrupts her. "We don't put much thought into our actions."

"What do you mean, of course you do," she staunchly replies. "Everybody has to plan."

"You're not understanding me, Granger," he draws out slowly. "What I mean to say is that when we, as men, feel that it is right, we will do it without a second's thought." A moment later, he adds. "Call it our stupidity-disguised-as-bravery complex. We're just built that way."

She remains silent, absorbing and thinking over his words. It is true, what he said. Harry is certainly like that, and Ron … Ron's like that too. There is no use contradicting Malfoy.

"So what do I do?" Hermione quietly asks, as though desperate to find a way to understand Ron. "I don't kno- What do I say to him?"

She can feel him shrug, the languid movement causes his right shoulder to bump into her left, and a shiver that runs down her body. "Only you would know. I can't help you there."

"I- I can't. I can't allow myself to let him just walk blindly into … things … into people who are willing to kill."

It seems as though he is about to say something, but he censors himself almost immediately. She is beginning to be able to sense him, his actions and movements and expressions, even though she is not looking at him. Intrigued, Hermione opens her mouth, about to ask drag it out of him when he interrupts her once again. "Do you trust him, Granger?"

"Wh- I beg your pardon?"

"Do you trust him?"

Carefully, Hermione thinks through everything that Harry, Ron and her have been through. She thinks about Ron and his immense temper, the flicking of his wand that once belonged to Peter Pettigrew, the way he smiles at her, the way he looks when she pulls away after kissing, the way his eyes darkened when Fred first hit the floor in the midst of the battle, the way he nearly pushed past her with fire in his eyes …

"I- I- I don't know. I think I do," she hesitantly replies. "Yes, I do," she adds on with a conviction that she knows will convince nobody, let alone herself.

He takes a deep breath, and then lets it all out in a long exhalation. "Then you will have to just let him go, won't you?"

Despite the roaring yells of denial ringing in her head, Hermione knows that he is right. If anything, he is always right. She looks at his side profile as his eyes are still closed, and wonders why she had never noticed the way his cheekbones jut out, or the way his silky white blond hair seems to look so soft, or the way his pale lips are actually so full and rounded when it isn't pulled into a tight line. Before she is able to catch herself, she finds her hand tracing his facial features without actually touching him.

Yet he is still able to sense it. Immediately, his own hand shoots out from behind his head and grabs her wrist in one fluid motion. It is not a painful grip, but still tight. His eyes fly open to look at hers, and she sees tumult and confusion behind his two gleaming grey orbs.

"I- I'm sorry, I wasn't thi-"

A shiver that runs down her spine as his grip loosens and his hand makes its way up to her pliable, unresisting hand cuts her off. Tenderly, as though he isn't even touching her at all, his long freezing fingers draw circles in her warm palm. The sensations that overwhelm her are nothing like what she had felt with Ron before. She tries to speak, but cannot seem to find the words to say.

This is wrong. She has Ron.

Yet why does it seem so right to kiss the pale, blond boy sitting in front of her right now and drawing circles on her palm? She stares into his smoldering grey eyes, and feels as though she is falling.

She tentatively begins to lean forward, paying attention to nothing else but his lips. His eyes betray his slight surprise as she continues to inch forward, little by little, only feeling his hand tightening its grip on hers, his other hand wrapping itself in her brown curls, pulling her closer to him …

"No," and in a blink of an eye, he is standing in front of her, breathing heavily.

--

Draco watches as the girl before him blinks for a few seconds then, realising what had almost happened, begins to blush furiously as she sweeps her wild hair away from her face. For a moment, he wonders if she can hear the pounding of his heart, and shifts a little to hide an arousal that is stretching his pants.

"I'm sorry," she finally speaks after a long pause of silence, evidently flustered. "I didn't know what I was doing. You didn't know what you were doing. I- it was just the moment. I- I'm sor-"

"Stop apologising," he interrupts swiftly, bringing a slender hand up to brush his hair back, and she shuts her mouth immediately. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"I- I- But I- I seduced you!" She exclaims loudly, her face turning redder by the second. "Like … Like some … some scarlet woman!"

Unable to stifle his amusement, he grins at her obvious anxiety. She saw his face and sure enough, her mortified expression changed into one of outrage.

"This isn't funny at all, Malfoy!"

Despite her displeasure, he continued smirking, knowing that it will serve to rile her up even further. "Never said it was, Granger,' he smoothly replies.

"Then why are you smirking!"

Her cheeks redden even further, flushed with indignity at his apparent cavalier attitude. Unable to help it, his smirk grows into a full-fledged grin.

"You arrogant git!" She cries out before violently launching herself off the rock and, because she doesn't possess the natural grace that he has, right into his arms. Before she gets the chance to pull away, her hands firmly hold on to her arms, unwilling to let her go.

He waits for her to cease her incessant and useless struggling and then lowers his head down, delighting in the fact that he is close enough to feel her warm pants of breath.

"What?" Her tone is dangerously dripping with sarcasm. "Do you want to mock me even further? Scoff at my apologies? Sneer at my humiliation?"

Draco continues staring at her, waiting for her anger to abate. The moment she takes a breath, he swoops right in.

"I didn't mean to mock you. If you'd felt that way, I'm sorry."

She looks up at him, her flushed cheeks and sparkling brown eyes seem to be the only things he can see right now. She opens her mouth, as though wanting to say something, but he shakes his head gently, indicating his desire to continue without her interrupting.

"Whatever is happening … I don't know what it's about. But I am not going take advantage of you, especially now when you are obviously confused. You are with Weasley and I will not let you bear the burden should I have let things … carry on just now. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

Slowly, she nods. He eases his grip on her and takes it as a good sign that she makes no move to step away. And so he reaches up to her face and brushes a few wayward curls away, tucking them gently behind her ear.

"What's going to happen now?" She mumbles after a while, turning away to look at the grass. And even without her elaborating, he knows exactly what she is trying to say.

"Nothing," he replies simply and reluctantly lets go of her as he takes a small step back, his hands suddenly feeling empty and cold.

She looks up at him, and he can see her brown eyes welling with silent tears. Once again, she nods. Then she gradually turns away, as though unwilling to, and step by step, she makes her way back to the school building, leaving him standing alone by the lake, his cloak billowing in the gentle breeze.

--

As Hermione walks towards the massive castle that is Hogwarts, she stops in her tracks and turns around, feeling his eyes on her. And there he is, standing by the lake where she'd left him moments ago, still looking at her intently. Even from a distance, she can see his silver grey eyes, like bright pinpricks of light on a dark blanket.

No matter how unwilling she is to turn away, she knows that she has to; otherwise she is capable of staring at him the entire night. And so she does. Hermione turns away and strides back to the castle, all the while feeling a strange void inside, as though she had just lost something.

And her arms, though freezing from the cold night air, still emanate warmth from where he had held on to her minutes ago. She can almost still feel his fingers around them.

--

Draco continues to watch her retreating back as each steps brings her further away from him. It feels as though the further she is, the stronger the wind blows, making him feel colder than ever before. He waits until she is safely back in the castle, then turns back to the lake and leans against the rock, surveying the lake but not really noticing anything anyway.

His mind is filled with images of her. Of her silky umber locks, of her twinkling chocolate brown eyes, of her flushed cheeks and pretty blush.

And there he remains even as the sky starts to lighten and the sun begins to rise, signalling the dawn of a new day.


	9. A Burgeoning Friendship

**Author's Note:** This particular chapter caused me quite some grief. Had to keep checking over and over again because it has some sort of flashback-type of thing, so I had to check on the tenses. Might've still left some mistakes in, it gets boring having to read the same piece over and over again hahaha. :)

Thanks for the reviews, all! You guys have been A-W-E-S-O-M-E! And that is why I chose to throw in another chapter so soon after the previous one, because I am extremely grateful for all the kind words. Keep them coming, I say!

It might be a little difficult for me to update regularly in the next two weeks because my exams are coming, but I'll try yes? :) Anyway, I won't keep you any longer. Read and review, loves!

* * *

**Chapter Nine:**

**A Burgeoning Friendship**

Draco stares at the thick book before him, not absorbing anything at all. It is one in the morning, how can anybody be in the right state of mind to study? He leans back in the hard chair and stretches his arms above his head, cracking his back. He briefly thinks of Blaise, and which girl his friend is currently in bed with now. Tilting his head backwards, he studies the intricately designed ceiling of the library, trying to read the words carved into the stone with the faint moonlight streaming in through the windows and the small light emitted from his hawthorne wand.

"Good evening," he calls out while trying to decipher the words carved on to the ceiling, seemingly speaking to nobody in particular. Certainly, not a soul was anywhere near his table.

He waited for half a minute. Then, "It's absolutely annoying how you are able to sense people so quickly."

"Some call it a gift," he flatly replies as a brown-haired girl steps out of the shadows, a bulging school bag slung over her right shoulder hiding behind her black school cloak.

Granger gives out an exasperated huff as she walks over to him and with a loud thump, sets her bag on the large wooden study table. "Lumos," he hears her whisper, before placing her wand on the other side of him, providing light where his own wandlight cannot reach.

"You know," he continues while she seats herself across the table from him and proceeds to remove weighty tomes from her bag. "It probably is a little too early to start studying for the N.E.W.T.s. But that's just my opinion."

"You say that every night," she replies with a hint of a smile tugging at her frown as she removes empty rolls of parchment, her quill and an inkpot. "And yet you still end up staying to study."

"Yes," he agrees while nodding his head slowly, letting his eyes wander around the shelves behind her. "Because as it turns out, you do need more help than you think."

She lets out an unwomanly snort of disbelief as she looks at her long list of things to do, all the while caressing the feathery end of the quill against her cheek. "So do you."

"Hmm," and he places his feet on the table, crossing them at the ankles while clasping his hands on his flat stomach. "So we are in fact helping each other out, are we not?"

She looks up at him, and he smirks inwardly at the amusement and challenge in Granger's brilliant brown eyes. "Get to work or I will throw you out, Malfoy."

Draco raises his eyebrows and a smirk tugs at the corners of his lips. "I thought you were opposed to any sort of slave driving."

He shifts to his left slightly, effortlessly avoiding the crumpled wad of parchment that she has thrown at him. Within minutes, the two of them settle into a comfortable, relaxed silence, disrupted only by the flipping of pages and her tidy scribbling on to pieces of parchment.

--

The reason why the two former enemies and now … _near_ friends are sitting at the back of the library, holding civil conversations, exchanging covert smiles and studying together at such a late hour can only be attributed to one sole event.

The aforementioned event occured a month ago, on the Saturday night right after their chance encounter by the lake.

It wasn't as though either of them had planned on bumping into each other again. Certainly not after the near kiss on the rock. Even Draco himself, who hardly feels out of place even in the most awkward situations, did not fancy putting himself in a spot with her. So he did not actively try to find her, and merely contented himself with passing glances in the corridors and the Great Hall. Hermione, on the other hand, did try her utmost best to avoid the flaxen-haired boy. The whole of that Saturday was spent immediately turning away from anything that resembled a shock of white-blond hair, resulting in a worried Ginny and rather sore legs. Moreover, Ron had sent her a long letter that morning, causing the burden on her shoulders to be no less lighter. Poor Pigwidgeon was exhausted.

And then night fell and Hermione, though plagued with problems, did not see any plausible reason to derail from her study schedule for the night and, with the Gryffindor Common Room packed, chose to do so in the library.

Little did she know that he, the one she had spent the entire day furtively evading, was already sitting at the back of the library, at her usual table, finishing up a particularly vicious Defence Against the Dark Arts essay under the moonlight streaming in from the tall windows, shining extraordinarily brightly that night.

When she'd crept into the library, Draco's ears pricked up and he'd immediately looked up from his work; his sharp eyes roamed around, waiting for whomever it was who'd stepped in to make him or herself known. When she was walking down the main aisle, only to get distracted by a new book on one of the Magical History shelves, he had silently placed his quill down on the table and withdrew his hawthorne wand from within his elegant and expensive robe. When she'd removed the book from the shelf and buried herself in it, he had carefully stood up from his chair and had his wand at the ready, held in a firm, unwavering grip. When she'd eventually left the shelves and resumed walking down the main aisle, her nose still buried in the wildly interesting book, he was still standing on guard, wary of the intruder.

At long last, she reached the back of the library and looked up, only to be startled by an almost savage frown on the face of the first and last boy she wanted to see.

"Y- You scared me," she'd broken the silence and watched as he rearranged his expression into his perpetual one of indifference and stowed his wand back into the folds of his robe.

"I thought you were one of the –" The word 'Slytherins' was at the tip of his tongue but he successfully retracted it, not wishing for her to know about his problems with his own Housemates.

"What … what are you doing here?"

Languidly, he had gestured at the table before him. "Bloody Defence Against the Dark Arts essay is giving me a headache."

He took his time and sat back down on the chair, picking his quill up to continue from where he'd left off when he noticed that she had not moved the slightest bit. "Well," he said, "Are you just going to stand there all night long?"

As though woken up from a dream, she jerked uncontrollably, inciting a small smirk on his part. "Don't worry," he had drawled as he turned back to the work laid out in front of him. "I'm too busy with this assignment to even think about last night."

After flipping through some pages from _The Dark Arts Outsmarted_ set before him, she finally moved and settled on the adjacent table at the other end of the space, behind the other set of shelves. He heard her light her wand, followed by the rustling of parchments and the heavy thuds of books being placed on the wooden table.

They were quiet for ten minutes, she reading through the book she'd picked up from the shelf earlier on and all the while, sneaking glances at him while he valiantly tried to add more details into his essay on the Tongue-Tying Curse.

Draco ended up being the one to break the awkward quietness, throwing his magnificent quill on the table with a tired groan, splattering dark ink all over the pages of the book. "Damnit," he had muttered under his breath, evidently mentally exhausted.

Silence was resumed for a while, then she piped up softly. "Mind if I take a look?"

He nodded towards the table as he leaned back on the chair, messaging the bridge of his nose.

Cautiously, Hermione treaded over and gently picked his half-finished essay up, giving it a quick but thorough look-through. "You could … you could write about the effects of it on the persons that curse was not meant for."

He looked up at her, letting his hand fall back to his side. "What?"

A blush was slowly working its way up her neck, and Draco found himself enthralled with the sight of it.

"Well," it seemed to him as though she was bracing herself to proceed the uneasy conversation. "Like the retching and possible nausea … even stammering or –"

"Or temporary muteness," he finished for her, his eyes strangely glazed over. She brushed it off as fatigue.

"Yes," she nodded as she placed his assignment back down on the table. "You've pretty much written down everything about the history of the curse, when and how it was invented, stuff like that. Y- You could go into the effects, how the curse is placed, how the uses have changed over time …" And then it seemed as though she'd caught herself speaking too much. "Just … just a suggestion anyway," she ended lamely.

He had stared at her profile for a while, and she suddenly felt uncomfortable about standing there, near him. "I'd like it if you could move to this table."

"W- What for?" She'd nervously asked, taking a small step back.

He sighed. "I'm not going to bite, Granger. It's just that with you here, it'd be much easier for me to ask for your help without actually asking for it."

When she smiled, a small and rather cautious one, he simply nodded at her expressionlessly, but that had seemed to do the trick. Within minutes, she'd packed her things and moved to sit across him, the table serving as a barrier between them.

Still leaning back, he placed his hands behind his hand and continued looking at her, even when she was already fully engrossed in her book, her soft lips silently murmuring the words. He ended up staring at those lips for far too long, breaking her concentration and effectively annoying her.

"Yes?" She'd asked in an irritated tone, coupled with a slightly displeased expression on her face. "I thought you had work to do."

"So what _do_ you think of last night?" He had asked and watched complacently as her cross mein turned into one of tense nervousness.

"I thought we were just going to forget about it," she mumbled back, averting her eyes.

"Forget about it?" He'd asked with raised eyebrows. "No, I don't think I said anything along the lines of forgetting about it."

She merely sat there, remaining silent. Instinctively, he knew that she wasn't even reading the book anymore. Looking at her, he'd noticed that her cheeks were stained a crimson red and she was biting her bottom lip hard, enough to draw blood.

"We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," he then added as he leaned forward and reached across the table to touch her open book, indicating an offer of truce.

She did not reply immediately, choosing only to speak after a few minutes. "What do you think about it?"

"Granger, you have to stop answering my questions with other questions. It gets tiring after a while," he'd drawled, withdrawing his hand once he was sure that she was going to be all right and leaning back against his chair once again, crossing his legs elegantly.

Hermione was still silent; her eyes were lowered on to her fidgeting hands that were clasped on her lap. It seemed as though she was purposefully trying to avoid looking at the boy sitting in front of her, for fear that she might say the wrong thing. Or allow herself to make a mistake that would be too much for her to bear.

"Well," he spoke up again while brushing his platinum-coloured hair from his eyes. "This is pleasant."

She only finally looked up at him then, a questioning frown on her face. "What is?"

"You, in the library. Me, in the library. You, helping me with my essay. Me, making you roll over in laughter," he replied sarcastically, an eyebrow cocked in its usual poised manner. "Us, having such a lovely conversation that it seems as though you can't even get a word in."

Only then did she crack a smile. "You think you're so funny."

"Not funny," he had replied lightly as he'd leaned forward, picking up his quill. "Maybe sarcastic. Or perhaps witty. But not funny."

Calmly, he then turned back to his essay, dipping his quill into his inkpot. "Perhaps you and I should meet again, to study."

After five minutes of no reply, he couldn't help himself and stole a quick glance at her. It had seemed as though she was waging an inner battle with her conscience. Her face was scrunched up in a confused expression that he could confidently say was a look that only she could pull off with such grace.

When she had eventually opened her mouth, he realised then that he was actually holding his breath a little. "I … would like that," Hermione replied slowly, still averting her eyes from him. "Very much."

"Well," he had responded smoothly, his head tilted up and his eyes closed, "Of course you would, what with your obvious ineptitude in Ancient Runes and my … shall we say, _negligence_ in certain topics under the year's syllabus on Defence Against the Dark Arts."

Opening his eyes, he then shifted his head down to see her reaction – a twinkle of a dimple graced her cheek. The two, having spent the entire night looking only at each other's general directions, ultimately met each other's eyes and with small smiles on their faces, they quietly turned back to their books, their hearts pounding faster and harder against their chests.

--

"So what're you working on tonight? Not still editing Flitwick's essay, are you?" Draco drawls, his eyes still trained on the enormously thick book in front of him.

"No, she replies curtly, scratching a long sentence out. "I'm halfway through Arithmancy now."

"I thought we were going to work on that together."

"Well," she looked up at him, a defiant expression on her face. "I didn't think it would be wise to leave it any longer, considering you were procrastinating about it the night before last."

"Yes," he agrees slowly. "I shall have a look through once you're done, yes?"

"Malfoy," she turns back to her paper. "I'm not going to let you copy off me. I thought you were above that."

"Who said anything about copying, Granger?" He counters smoothly, still reading the text before him. "I want to have a look so that I can point out your mistakes."

She scoffs at his comment and continues with her assignment, then stops abruptly and looks up at him with a knowing frown. "You've already completed it, haven't you?"

"Clever girl," he returns, removing a long scroll of parchment from his expensive leather satchel and tossing it on the table. She snatches it up and skims through it, her eyes rapidly flying across the parchment, absorbing his words.

He steals a quick glance at her, the image of her engrossed in his essay burns in his mind's eye. She is being a little more curt than usual this evening, but he knows the reason why. After a month's worth of planning and organising, Potter, Weasel and his parents have set off to Albania, in search for the remaining Death Eaters. Naturally, she is worried, even though Weasel and her are still on rather rocky terms, just as he is worried for his parents' safety.

"This is really good," she eventually replies, placing his assignment back on to the empty space between them on the table.

"Of course," he lazily responds, still not looking at her. "I only deal with the best."

He contemplates whether to bring the mission to Albania up, to pick her brain a little and find out what she thinks. After having spent practically every night of the past month in the library with her, Draco certainly has picked up a few things about her.

Firstly, she always chews on her bottom lip when facing a problem, be it schoolwork or whatever. The chewing is all right but the aftermath of it, her swollen and brilliantly red lip, almost always drives him to the brink of an uncontrollable desire to touch those lips with his. Secondly, she is not in the slightest least bothered with how she looks. Balls and special occasions aside, she generally does not bother to dress up or put on make up or do her hair up. Though initially irked, he was surprised to find that that particular bit of her was growing on him, and now he simply finds it exceptionally charming, that he is irrepressibly drawn to her, even though it is painfully obviously that she evidently does not care about impressing him as opposed to the other girls he meets. Perhaps it's just that. And thirdly, her eyes. A plain shade of chocolate brown but yet, still so bright and luminous, even in the dark of the night.

Of course there are the other things, like how she hates those few renegade curls that always seem to escape her hair ties. Always huffing exasperatedly at them. Or how she is so respectful and polite and kind to the point of ridiculousness. Or how she visibly relaxes upon opening a book, her shoulders settle down and her eyebrows no longer knitted in anxiety. Or how the dimple on her left cheek always makes an appearance whenever she smiles. Or how she extensively and obsessively researches about anything that interests her. And this mission in Albania … he knows for a fact that if he is to ask her about Albania, she will be able to tell him everything and anything.

Then slowly, the scratching of her quill against parchment gently ceases. "So they've left for Albania today," she tentatively pipes up.

"Yes," he replies steadily while still looking at his book, marveling inwardly at how similarly they thought sometimes.

"Uh …" she stalls for time while staring at her work, probably thinking of what to say next. "So … how are your parents?"

Draco faces her, his expression unreadable and his pale lips slightly pursed. Then he leans back against the back of the hard wooden chair and crosses his legs, giving the impression of the king lounging on his throne. "Mother wrote me before they left. Said she was _excited_."

She gradually nods. "That's good," she replies evenly. "Harry wrote me too."

"But not Weasley," he observes, his eyes still on her.

"No," she eventually says. "He and I … aren't talking … for the time being."

Draco raises his eyebrows in vague interest and vaguely fiddles with a long splinter from the right armrest of the wooden library chair.

"He … I told him to go but … well," she takes in a deep breath. "It hasn't been the same. So I brought it up last Hogsmeade weekend, and … he- he wasn't happy."

"And," she continues in the silence, "I haven't heard anything since then."

"Well of course not, Granger," Draco replies with a hint of mockery in his voice. "They've only just left this afternoon."

"It would be common courtesy to let those who care about you know that you're all right, don't you agree," she retorts, her checks blushing a fierce red.

"Not every hour," he responds dismissively. "They'd be too busy constantly sending you messages that they won't be able to do their jobs, don't _you_ agree?"

He cocks an eyebrow at her abashed expression. "You're right," she ultimately agrees. "I'm just … stupid … an-."

"You're anything but, Granger," he interrupts swiftly, tugging her half-complete Arithmancy essay away from her and languidly reading through it. "Though perhaps a little on the crazy side."

His words are met with a small smile on her part, and he quickly trains his eyes on her paper to avoid staring.

"Anyway," he adds," if anything should happen, we would be informed immediately. So stop worrying and concentrate on your homework in which," he casts her essay back to her, "I've already spotted a small mistake."

Her smile grows wider as she takes the scroll of parchment back and dips her quill into her inkpot. "You're incorrigible, Malfoy."

"No," he disagrees seriously as he leans over to grab the thick tome and places it on his lap. "I believe that the correct word is endearing, Granger."

--

It is a bright Sunday morning and Draco settles himself down at the far end of the Slytherin table alone, spooning himself some porridge and pouring himself a cup of coffee. Five minutes later, a tall black handsome boy with almond-shaped brown eyes and a snobbish nose joins him, putting some bacon and scrambled eggs on his own plate and sipping on a goblet filled with pumpkin juice.

"So … Where have you been sleeping lately, Malfoy?" Blaise asks with a perfectly manicured quirked eyebrow. "In other beds?"

"Your mind is in the gutter, Zabini," Draco smoothly ripostes, calmly eating his breakfast. "Though I'm not surprised, with all the _pleasure_ you seek." The white-blond boy takes a swig from his cup of black coffee, then continues. "Why are you so curious anyway?"

"Nothing much," Blaise returns while crunching on a piece of bacon. "It's just that recently when I'm up in the middle of the night, you're not in your bed. Just inquisitive, that's all."

"And why, may I ask, would you be awake in the middle of the night, Zabini?" He questions promptly, though already knowing the answer anyway.

"Ah, Malfoy," Blaise smirks at his friend before following it up with a satisfying gulp of pumpkin juice. "It is for, as you say, the _pleasures_ I seek."

--

"Hermione, have you been sleeping enough?"

Ginny's concerned voice interrupts her thoughts that have been swarming her brain for the past fifteen minutes. She straightens up and turns to her close friend, who is frowning at her. "I'm fine, Gin. Just a little tired. Been studying."

"I know you have," replies Ginny as she resumes eating her lightly buttered toast. "But you really ought to slow down a little." She drinks from her goblet of pumpkin juice and continues. "I mean, you spend your nights in the library till the early hours of the morning, then you come back and sleep, only to wake up four hours later for breakfast and classes. This isn't right, Hermione. You need more sleep than that."

The umber-haired girl cuts up her chicken sausages up into bite-sized pieces before popping one in her mouth, chewing on it slowly and thoughtfully. "Yeah I know," she replies after swallowing. "I'm just … stressed, I suppose."

"Is this because of Ron?" Ginny speculates while looking at her friend. "Because I sent him a Howler regarding the way he treated you at Hogsmeade last weekend."

"No no, it's not Ron," Hermione hurriedly clarifies. "I mean … I expect that things between Ron and I won't be the same for a while, which is all right by me too." She shrugs and adds, "Besides, I've come to realise that having a boyfriend who isn't studying with you becomes quite taxing on your studies."

"Hermione," Ginny hesitantly asks. "Are you … thinking of breaking things off with Ron? It's not that I mind! I mean, I'm just his sister, not like I'm pa-"

"No," Hermione interjects before her friend whips herself up in a frenzy. "I'm not thinking of breaking up with Ron. But perhaps a short break, you know … like a hiatus or something."

She looks up to see Malfoy staring at her from across the Great Hall, and she gives him a small smile as he nods at her, his way of greeting her inconspicuously. She's gotten quite used to his curt mannerisms now, and sometimes even finds herself preferring that as opposed to Ron's rather smothering nature.

"Does this have something to do with Malfoy?"

Hermione, in the midst of chewing on another piece of sausage, accidentally bites her tongue upon hearing Ginny utter his name. "Ow!" She can feel her eyes welling up in tears as the overwhelming irony taste of blood spreads in her mouth. Quickly, she swipes a clean napkin from the table and dabs at the side of her tongue, spitting out blood on to the napkin as elegantly as possible.

"It's Malfoy, isn't it?" Ginny surmises confidently enough, handing Hermione a goblet of water to wash the blood down. "You bit your tongue at the mere mention of his name, and don't think I've been completely oblivious to the recent civility between the two of you. He keeps staring at you during meals and such, smirking away as though you two are sharing some sort of private joke." She rolls her eyes at that last bit, making it clear that she found it quite cheesy. "So what's going on?"

A blush begins to creep up her neck and she desperately tries to will it down while nervously gulping down some more water.

"Hermione … you're not … ahh, you aren't …" Ginny trails off, looking unsure.

"No, Gin. I'm not cheating on Ron," Hermione replies quickly. "I would never do that to him."

"Then …"

"If you must know, Malfoy and I are friends," she returns haughtily, hoping that her reply was as smooth as she'd hoped it would be. "We study together sometimes, but that's all. Personally, I find the whole hoo-hah about him being Malfoy and all that quite juvenile. The Malfoys are on our side now, and they're helping us quite a lot too, with thei-"

"Relax, Hermione," Ginny interrupts, holding her hands up as though defending herself. "I didn't mention anything about Malfoy being bad. What're you being all defensive about?"

"N-Nothing," Hermione quickly replies to cover up her blunder. "I'm just … stressed. And tired."

Ginny stares at her friend suspiciously, narrowing her bright brown eyes. However, she decides that the best course of action would be to change the subject. "So has Ron written to you yet?"

"No," Hermione frankly states with her eyes downcast, stabbing another piece of sausage rather viciously with her silver fork. "But Harry's sent me a short note to let me know that they're okay."

"Yeah, he sent me one too."

An awkward silence falls between the two girls, the first in a very long time.

"Hermione, listen. I know that there's something going on … and I understand if you don't want to tell me so I won't ask until you're ready. But …just- don't hurt Ron, okay?"

Hermione thinks for a moment, then looks up at Ginny's almost pleading expression. She knows exactly what to say to assure Ginny, to convince her sharp friend that everything is all right. "Of course not, Gin. I love Ron." She watches as a persuaded Ginny smiles tentatively and turns away to munch on more toast.

Now, if only she herself could be as easily convinced as well.

--

"So … Ginny asked about you this morning," the umber-haired girl comments while biting her bottom lip, hiding her evident apprehension behind a shoddily constructed calm exterior.

Draco looks up from his work and gracefully proceeds to twirls his extravagantly grand feather quill between his slender fingers with the easy skill of one who has made quill-twirling a habit. It is half past twelve in the morning and as usual, the both of them are seated on the usual large wooden table at the back of the library, their lit wands placed at both ends of the table and their books and pieces of parchment scattered all over.

"And?" He simply replies, appearing as though he doesn't care in the slightest.

"And …," he watches as the girl blushes rather prettily. "I told her that we're … friends." She carefully articulates the last word slowly, as though unsure if that particular word was the right one.

"Friends," he repeats after a pause, nodding his head slowly to digest it.

"A- Are we? I mean," she swallows anxiously, her rapidly shifting eyes finally settling on a little left off of his gunmetal grey eyes. "I was under the impression that we're on civil terms. Perhaps I'd assumed too quic-"

"Shut up, Granger," Draco cuts in on what would have seemed to be a long-winded, self-explanatory sermon. At the sight of her dumbfounded expression at being told to shut up, he quickly adds, "You talk too much sometimes."

"Well, excuse me, Malfoy. But I was just trying t-" She begins hotly, but he interjects smoothly once again, effectively shutting her up.

"Friends," he ponders over it while scratching the bottom of his angular chin with his quill. "What do you think of it?"

Still astonished by Draco's prior impertinence, it takes some time for her to gather her wits. "I … well, I wouldn't mind it that much, I suppose," she replies in a hoity-toity tone, eliciting an infuriating smirk from him.

"Yes," he speaks up before she can even jump on the chance to berate him about his maddening smug smiles and gives an unconcerned shrug. "I wouldn't mind it that much either."

And with that, he effectively shuts her up for the next hour until they pack up to leave for their respective dormitories.


	10. A Moment Of Weakness

**Author's Note:** EXAMS ARE OVER! Well, no. The last day of the exam period is tomorrow, but it's officially over for me! I am, as of now, an English undergraduate. Feels kinda weird, but still nice. :) Anyway, so all my American exchange student friends have informed me that it's Thanksgiving so for all you Americans, HAPPY THANKSGIVING! :) I got invited to a few Thanksgiving dinners throughout the night and holy crap, do you guys prepare a lot for them.

Anyway, thanks for the reviews too! The reviews left recently have been overwhelmingly awesome, and I love them ALL. KEEP ON REVIEWING, GUYS!

All right then, I'll leave you to it. _Psst, it's a real exciting chapter too._ :) Enjoy!

P.S. Kindly ignore any mistakes. This chapter gave me a whole lot of problems (had to rewrite it four times) then I had my exams and everything ... and I couldn't wait to upload it so ... well, I did a couple of skims and it seemed okay. If there're too many mistakes, just tell me and I'll edit it properly. As for now, I'm just too tired. :) Cheers.

* * *

**Chapter Ten:**

**A Moment Of Weakness  
**

It is the start of December, and everybody's taken to layering coat after coat in his or her bid to battle the brutal winter cold because while the inside of the castle is all warm and toasty, stepping outside in less than two thick layers is positively suicide. Students and staff alike are constantly seen walking around briskly as even strong warming charms do nothing to deter the wintry chill. Last night was particularly nipping, with various light sleepers waking up to a full-blown storm in the middle of the night and the entire school waking up to a snow-covered Hogwarts.

The rather forceful snowstorm was witnessed by Hermione, who had gotten up from her seat in the library to walk up towards the window, enthralled by the ferocity of the heavy fall of snow. Malfoy, on the other hand, merely remained on his chair reading, and only looked up once with a cocked eyebrow in response to the howling winter winds.

The both of them had gotten back just fine. Hermione had initially half expected Malfoy to offer to walk her back, but then immediately disabused herself of that notion. After having spent practically every night with him of the past month or so, she should've known better. So needless to say, she was extremely surprised when, upon leaving the library and walking towards the Entrance Hall in their usual silence, Malfoy announced that he was going to walk her back.

"Uh …," was all Hermione could think of at that point of time.

"Don't worry, Granger," he'd smoothly drawled; she could detect a hint of laughter in his tone. "The main reason why I'm walking you back is just so that you won't faint in the middle of a corridor from the cold."

"I- I am capable of a decent Hot Air Charm, Malfoy," she stammered slightly, feeling somewhat indignant that he might be questioning her magical skills.

"Does everything have to be an argument with you?" He had responded and then gave her no time to think of a retort as he gently began to push her up the stairs.

"It would be on my head should anything happen to you. I may get expelled," he added, taking his place by her side again.

Hermione should have be comforted by that, by the fact that the only reason he wanted to walk her to the Gryffindor Tower was simply because he wanted to protect himself. That's how things were last time, and that's how things should remain. Yet somehow, her traitorous heart began to leap in excitement and she stole a quick glance at him, blushing furiously at the same time. She'd caught his sharp eyes, and he'd directed a small smirk at her before turning to face the front again. Hermione turned to look forward as well, unable to suppress a small grin.

The both of them were fully aware of his small lie. And the both of them did not mind in the slightest.

--

"Here," Harry thrusts a piece of parchment, a quill and a half-empty inkpot on to the thick blanket that is covering Ron's crossed legs.

"Wha- What?" Ron laggardly looks up at his friend who is towering over him, trying to shake off the remnants of the previously sleepy stupor he's been in since the start of his watch three hours ago. It is almost four in the morning, and Ron had learned from all his previous night watches that almost nothing happens at four in the bloody morning.

"What the hell are you doing up now anyway? Shouldn't you be sleeping?" Ron asks, having been jerked so rudely out of his open-eyed slumber by Harry. "We've got a big day tomorrow."

"Precisely why I gave you the parchment and quill, Ron," Harry rolls his eyes in reply as he seats himself down next to Ron, at the entrance of the tent, instantly feeling the bitter cold. "You should write to her."

For a moment, Ron's mind draws a blank. "To her?"

"Hermione, Ron," Harry speaks slowly and enunciates his words carefully. "Your girlfriend."

Oh. _That_ her. Ron turns back to his lap that is tucked into a comfortably warm deep blue blanket and upon which lay the writing materials Harry had thrown at him not a few minutes ago. He does not reply for a while, and Harry heaves a sigh.

"We're going off tomorrow, Ron. Don't you think that you should at least write her and tell her you're going to be okay?"

Ah. Tomorrow. The day in which the motley crew of four will be packing their things and heading up the mountains, where some diehard Death Eaters are rumoured to be hiding. From their last correspondence with Kingsley, he had informed them that Mulciber, caught just a few days ago hiding out in Asia, had divulged upon intense interrogation that some Death Eaters have reconvened in Albania, under the unstable leadership of Rabastan Lestrange. Kingsley had warned them to be careful because according to the testimonies of those captured, the death of Bellatrix and imprisonment of Rodolphus have contributed significantly to the decline in Rabastan's mental health.

Ron remembers it all quite clearly. Lucius Malfoy that smarmy idiot even had the gall to smirk when Kingsley was warning them about Rabastan. At that point, Ron was so close to punching Lucius in the face, only because it seemed as though that smug bastard was making light of their situation.

"Have you sent your letter to Ginny yet then?" Ron breaks out of his reverie and quietly mumbles back, still staring intently at the things on his lap.

"Nope," Harry replies. "Waiting for you, mate."

Another pause of silence as the two boys sit near the entrance of the Malfoys' dome tent, listening to the flapping of the canvas tent made by the strong winds. Ron notices that the quill on his lap looks vaguely familiar, and he picks up and turns to Harry with a questioning look on his face.

"Yeah, it's Hermione's. Nicked it off her before she left for Hogwarts," Harry grins then shrugs. "She wouldn't have minded. She's got tons of quills anyway."

Ron drops the quill back on to the blanket stretched over his crossed legs. Even thinking twice, he voices out his one main concern to Harry, whom he knows will not judge him. "What if she doesn't want me to write to her?"

His friend lets out another sigh as he rubs his hands together in an effort to keep warm. "Ron, it's Hermione. No matter how angry she is at you, she'll never hate you. And if I were her," he speaks confidently, "I'd want a letter, even if I'm still mad." He turns to his friend, and adds. "She'd want to know that you're safe."

"Besides," he stretches his arms out over his head then, upon realising what a mistake it is to do that right at the entrance of the tent, immediately withdraws them and crosses them across his chest, hiding his hands under his armpits. "Besides, it's the last letter you're going to be able to write to her till we come back down. And that can take ages."

Ron nods silently, then sets the writing materials down on the floor and flattens the parchment obsessively, as though stalling for time. Harry looks at his friend compulsively smoothing out the rather crumpled piece of parchment, then sighs once more. "Go inside and write it, you git. I'll take over your watch for the time being."

The fiery redhead turns to Harry, a look of gratitude etched on his face. "Thanks, Harry," he mutters before collecting the writing materials and prepares to stand up to walk over to the kitchen table.

"Oi!" Harry interrupts his friend as Ron turns away towards the warmth of the tent. "I want that blanket!"

With a quick grin, Ron throws the blanket to Harry, effectively hitting his head and doing a far better job of messing up his raven-black hair than Harry ever can. "Idiot," Harry mutters under his breath as he adjusts his spectacles and covers himself with the thick comforter. He casts the Hot Air Charm and sets his wand before him, warming his hands in the steaming air that the tip of his wand is emitting. And then he smiles to himself.

Everything's going to be all right. He's got a good feeling about it.

--

Hermione is sitting in between Ginny and Seamus, trying her best to swallow her food down as calmly as possible. Harry and Ron must have started their trek up the mountains now, with the Malfoys. Under the pretense of turning to look at the entrance of the Great Hall, she chances a glance at Malfoy, who is sitting next to Blaise Zabini, staring glumly at the table. Even from way across the grand chamber, she can tell that he is feeling as worried, if not more than her.

"Hermione," Ginny's voice startles her back into reality. Swiftly, she turns back to her scrambled eggs that, while having looked delicious earlier on, she now has no appetite for. "What're you looking at?"

"Nothing," Hermione replies in a believably casual tone. "Just… thinking, that's all."

Ginny nods knowingly, then drops her voice. "I know you must be worried. But they can take care of themselves."

She sighs, mashing her eggs up into an indiscernible yellow mush on her plate, just to give herself something to do. "I know, Gin. I'm just…" She trails off with another frustrated sigh.

"They're going to be all right," Ginny replies in an assuring voice. "Don't think so much about it."

Hermione nods, training her eyes on her eggs. She just can't look at Ginny today, with her uncanny resemblance with her older brother.

"Wonder how Malfoy's doing," Ginny continues, nodding towards the pale boy who, Hermione notices, still hasn't touched his food. "Must be Hell knowing that his own parents are risking their lives too."

"Yeah," Hermione replies while looking up at him. "It's more dangerous for them too, isn't it?"

"Harry told me that the Death Eaters have placed a contract on the Malfoys," Ginny whispers softly, not desiring to be overhead by anyone else. "No wonder Malfoy's been looking so gloomy."

Hermione nods again, not knowing how or what to reply to that. She'd read about that obviously touchy topic with Malfoy in their nightly study meetings. She wonders if the anything's going to happen to him, if any of the Slytherins might try to hurt him in some way. At the mere thought of that possibility, Hermione's heart constricts painfully for a second, making it difficult for her to breathe.

And right then, Malfoy looks up and catches the two Gryffindor girls staring at him, one with curiosity tinged with sympathy and the other, just concern. He continues looking at them for a while before nodding curtly, then rising up from his seat. All eyes on the Slytherin table turn to look at him as he walks out of the Great Hall alone, and Hermione feels a strange compulsion to yell after him to be careful, to not go out alone, to be alert.

She successfully suppresses that urge though. There's no knowing what everybody might do if she is to publicly show concern for him.

"Poor thing," Ginny comments before turning back to her food. "Wouldn't want to be in his shoes."

Hermione nods once again, not feeling the urge to talk at all. She stares at the yellow pulpy mass of mashed eggs on her plate, and tries her best to quell the now overwhelming desire to talk to him. In fact, she tries so hard that she doesn't notice that she's driven her silver fork into the table until Neville, all the while engrossed in their Advanced Herbology text, points it out to her with a bewildered look on his scarred face.

And before she can think of any hasty explanation behind her uncharacteristic violence, she hears languid flapping of wings and looks up. Hundreds of owls of all colours and sizes fly over their heads, landing on the tables in front of their addressees. A large tawny owl lands in front of her, and clicks its beak impatiently. Hurriedly, Hermione reaches over and pulls out the bundle tied to the owl's leg and it takes off immediately, not even waiting for her to feed it some small bit of kipper. In the bundle is two letters, one addressed to Ginny in Harry's familiar scrawl and the other to her, and she is surprised to see that it is not Harry who had written to her as he has for the past few days, but Ron.

She passes Ginny's letter over to her friend, then quickly unfurls hers.

_Dear Hermione,_

_I know things have been pretty weird between us. But I thought it would be best if I'd sent you something, just to let you know that I'm not dead._

_By the time you read this, we're probably on our way up the mountains by now. I'm sure Harry has already told you all this, so… we won't be able to write to you guys for at least the next few weeks. Too dangerous. So here's wishing you an early Christmas and, if needed, a Happy New Year. Sorry I won't be spending those occasions with you._

_But that's not the only thing I'm sorry about. I'm sorry about… well, a lot of things. And I hope you can forgive me. I'm not saying that I regret being here, this is what I want to do. But I'm sorry for causing you… pain, I guess._

_You know I'm not good with words. That's why I always copied off you and Harry at school ha ha. _

_Anyway, I just want you to know that I miss you terribly and… I wish I was somewhere with you now. But that will have to wait until I come back, which will be soon. It's going to be fine, Hermione. Don't worry about us too much._

_Love always,  
Ron_

Hermione feels her eyes welling up, and knows that if she doesn't leave the Great Hall soon, she will end up bursting into tears in front of the entire school. Turning to look at Ginny, her eyes begin to shed its tears as her heart wrenches at the sight of her friend quietly sobbing. Reaching over, she hugs Ginny tightly, hoping to assuage the younger girl's fears which she has so convincingly hidden underneath her façade of toughness. Even with her skin as thick as any of her brothers, Hermione knows that Ginny is still as soft as the next girl.

And together, both girls comfort each other and cry silent tears while gripping their respective letters tightly in front of a rather puzzled and baffled Gryffindor table.

--

Draco is sitting out at the Quidditch pitch alone, feeling no colder than he usually does, even amidst the frosty winds and snow lightly falling down around him. His cloak is wrapped loosely around him, billowing heavily in the wind like a great big black cape. He stares at the empty Quidditch pitch, the grass half hidden underneath a layer of snow. Strangely enough, he finds himself missing the sport. He misses the excitement, the anticipation, the adrenaline that courses through him as he whips around, trying to find the Snitch. He was an excellent Seeker; his acute sense of awareness and quick observational skills had aided him greatly, and he had led the Slytherin House team to many victories. Why Potter was always able to get one over him is something that Draco will never be able to understand because … while Potter may be the better flier of the two, Draco _knows_ that he is the better Seeker.

Grunting his annoyance at the countless memories of him having to deal with the sneering Slytherins every time he'd lost to Potter, Draco then notices a big brown owl flying towards him, a speck of burnt sienna amidst a white blanket of snow. Even from a distance, he can see that a letter is tied to the leg of the owl, attached on the tightly rolled parchment is a long piece of midnight black satin ribbon.

Mother.

The owl lands on the seat next to his and extends its leg. Draco quickly unties the letter then shoos the offended bird away, concentrating solely on the tightly furled roll of parchment in his hand and not the infernal owl which tries to nip him a couple of times before taking off abruptly. He stretches the letter out in his hands and reads his mother's letter, written in her elegantly sophisticated writing and filled with words of love, care and caution.

He rereads it twice, not feeling any better than he had felt this entire week. His mother's carefully chosen words have done nothing to alleviate his fears and general unease about the entire mission. He knows that his parents are formidable enough fighters, but it still does nothing to dull his worries.

After all, his parents are risking their lives. Never mind bloody Potter and Weasel, the both of them have always sought to _do good for mankind _anyway.

Briefly, he thinks about Granger. Judging from her puffy eyes that he'd noticed from way across the Great Hall, he instinctively surmises that she must have had as rough a night as he did after he had left her at that damned portrait. The image of Weasel and Granger flash momentarily in his mind and for a moment, he feels an inexplicable sudden rush of anger that passes quickly.

Silently, he folds the parchment in half and slips it into the pocket of his slim cut, specifically tailored black pants. Instead of leaving for some place warmer, he stubbornly chooses to remain outdoors, at the Quidditch pitch, where he knows nobody will go even though it's a Saturday. He just wants to be left alone.

--

In the midst of packing her things for her usual trip down to the library, Hermione is interrupted by a knock on her door. Instantly knowing that there can only be one person who will be knocking on her door at such a late hour, she simply yells for Ginny to come right on in while continuing to search for extra quills.

Ginny, in worn crumpled pajamas, sits on Hermione's neatly made bed, her eyes still a little puffy from a whole day of crying over Harry's long love letter to her. "Hey," Ginny softly says. "Off to the library again?"

Hermione turns to look at her friend. Ginny's fiery auburn hair is in an absolute mess, with knots sticking out of her loosely tied ponytail that slants to the left. Her face is covered in splotches of red that only serve to highlight her numerous freckles. Her eyes are bloodshot and betray signs of exhaustion. The seventh year walks over and embraces Ginny, knowing that while it is an extremely poor replacement of Harry's strong arms, it is still something.

"Yeah, I'm going to the library," Hermione whispers as she continues to hold Ginny tightly. "Or do you want me to stay?"

"No," Ginny shakes her head and pulls away gently from the hug. "You go do your own thing. I think it's best for me to go to sleep anyway."

"Yes," Hermione agrees with an emphatic nod of her head, sending her umber locks flying all over the place. "You should sleep, Gin. You'll feel better tomorrow after a good night's rest."

"Okay," Ginny mumbles while tiredly nodding her head, allowing Hermione to pull her up and lead her back into the sixth-year girls dormitory, where two other girls seated on one bed, gossiping. Their voices lower to mere whispers upon seeing Hermione enter with Ginny in tow and while Ginny doesn't notice, Hermione is aware of the fact that the hushed whispers are about them. All of a sudden, she is struck with the knowledge that this, multiplied by a thousand, must be how Malfoy feels every single day.

All of a sudden, her already anguished heart goes out to Malfoy, a little piece of her that she instinctively knows will always stay with the memory of him.

Taking a note from his book, she straightens her back and pointedly ignores the gossiping girls. She tucks Ginny into bed and softly whispers soothing words in her ear then kisses her close friend on the forehead, igniting more fervent murmurings from the two girls. Once Ginny nods and closes her eyes, Hermione turns to leave, not before shooting the other Gryffindor sixth year girls a dirty glare.

And so when she steps into the library twenty minutes later with her bag slung on her shoulder and spots Malfoy intently engrossed in a thick tome, she quells the urge to speak up, to voice her knowledge of how he must feel every day – alone, outcast, abandoned. Instead, she strives to put her thoughts into the simple action of nodding her head in greeting, injecting an unnecessary smile of understanding.

What she doesn't know, as she dismisses his usual indifference as incomprehension, is that he had indeed caught it and that upon seeing her smile at him, his heart had begun to race a little faster.

--

He hasn't been able to concentrate on his book for the past half hour. Not really absorbing anything, he's been stuck on the same page for fifteen minutes, reading the same line over and over again. Why it may not be schoolwork, it is still frustrating for him to be fully aware of the fact that because of one issue that does not even directly involve him, he can't seem to digest any sodding thing he reads. All he can seem to think of are his parents, and though he knows for a fact that Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy are perfectly capable of taking care of themselves, he is still unable to help but feel nagging twinges of fretfulness. Nagging twinges that seem to grow with each second, not exactly helping with his already bad mood. Grunting exasperatedly, he violently pushes his book away in displeasure and yawns, stretching himself out on the hard mahogany chair.

Settling back, he turns and sees her staring at him curiously. "Yes, Granger?" He snaps curtly, not understanding why his mood has taken such a sharp dive upon looking at her.

He notices her immediate fluster, her rapidly reddening cheeks, and her convulsive, jerky movements in order to keep calm. Not really caring about it now, he opens his mouth to yawn again, not particularly bothered by the fact that he hardly does such revealing actions to people. Because Granger isn't just _people_, a fact that he has learned to accept.

"I was just wondering…" She trails off, leaving him quite irritated at her apparent inability to produce properly formed, coherent sentences. At present, his temper is not something to be trifled with.

"Yes?" He prods again.

"I…"

Sighing, he rolls his eyes impatiently and decides to get her to the point, not wishing to hear her stammer and stutter her way into asking him what he already knows she is going to ask. "Yes, I know what today is."

"W- Was that why you walked out of the Great Hall this morning during breakfast?" She shyly asks, her piercing brown eyes training on him.

"Perceptive," he replies dryly, and leans back against the chair to stare at his shoes, not in any mood to hold a proper conversation right now.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She is still staring at him, as though trying to see past his façade of apathy. A sharp jolt of annoyance runs through him, and he suddenly does not even feel like being there anymore. It is like a sudden switch, and he proceeds to lash out without prior consideration.

"What is there to talk about, Granger? My parents and your best pals are stuck in Albania and will not be able to contact anyone for a good month or so," he replies harshly, all the while not really knowing why he is feeling so vexed. "Yes, let's _air our thoughts_ and comfort each other, shall we?"

The library is filled with a cackling tension, and Draco immediately regrets what he said before. He sits rigidly in his chair for a while, refusing to look at her. Nothing will make him feel worse than seeing her hurt expression.

She breaks the awkward silence. "You arrogant git."

Draco instantly whips his head up, and is greeted by the sight of an obviously upset Hermione Granger. Her eyes are shining with unshed tears in the light of their wands, her cheeks are essentially blotchy patches of red, her left hand is curled into a fist while her other, holding her quill, is trembling.

"What makes _you_ think that _you're_ the only one who's worried?" Her tone is almost as brusque as the one he'd used earlier. "What makes _you_ think that the ones you care about are the only ones who might die?"

A tear falls, leaving a wet trail behind on her cheek. Like the last time he had been witness to her crying, he feels an urge to reach over and wipe her tears away with his calloused thumb. Not knowing what to do, he simply looks away, unable to deal with so many conflicting emotions right now. He wants to yell at her, to grab her by the shoulders and scream at her, to slap her, to punch her, to hold her tight and kiss her like he has never kissed before, to protect her, to argue back, to apologise …

He doesn't need this now. Abruptly, he stands up and collects his things swiftly, not even chancing a glance at her to see her reaction. So intent on leaving, his acute senses fail him for the first time ever and he does not notice that she has gotten up from her chair and is standing right beside him.

"No," she speaks up, and he is forced to hide his surprise at her stealth. "You don't get to leave."

--

As he slowly turns to face her, Hermione is startled by the anger shown in his eyes. Not just anger, but raw emotions of rage and fear. Anybody else in her position would have stepped back immediately and let him go, but Hermione stands her ground, meeting his eyes with a defiant glare.

"Excuse me?" He quietly replies, his tone laced with a type of silent anger that she knows is highly dangerous. However she is not going to back down now. All the pent-up feelings from the entire day seems to be clouding her judgment, but she has gone beyond the point of caring.

"You don't just get to leave, Malfoy. Who do you think you are anyway? Do you think that running away is the best sol-"

She is unable to finish her rebuke of his appalling behaviour because his long slender arms has reached out and pulled her hard against his chest, and his lips are crashing down on hers. While alarm bells start ringing immediately in her head, the feel of his soft lips against her and his hands grabbing her arms tightly sends her into a spiral of nothingness and within a split-second, she responds fervently, her own nails digging into his arms through his long sleeves.

Shivers run up her spine as he moves his arms around her, his hands snaking up to grab fistfuls of her brown curls without breaking away from the intensely passionate kiss. Instinctively, she encircles his neck with her arms, her fingers grazing the back of his neck, causing him to push her against him even harder. His tongue, brazenly leaving a hot trail across her lips, darts into her mouth and runs across her teeth, causing goose pimples to rise on her skin.

And then as suddenly as he'd initiated the kiss, he ended it. Their faces still mere inches apart, Hermione can feel his warm breath ghosting across her face in fast pants, as though he's been running. Her eyes meet his, and she senses a desperate longing amidst the confusion raging in those silver-grey orbs. She moves her hand from around his neck and caresses his cheek softly, watching as he closes his eyes and leans into her hand, as though drawing comfort from her gentle and soothing touch.

Simply following her instincts, she leans in to brush her lips against his, feeling his hot spurts of breath on her mouth. Once again, he pushes against her and deepens the kiss, running his tongue across her lips then into her mouth, exploring every bit of it ardently. His hands run up and down the sides of her body, and she is trembling with desire and pleasure.

And then he ends the kiss again, this time letting his hands fall by his sides and taking a step back. Trying to keep up with his abrupt actions, she takes a step back too, her hand flying to her bruised lips. Hermione tries to read his expression and is unsuccessful, that skilled he is in hiding his emotions.

"Excuse me," he repeats, but in a softer and kinder tone, with a hint of a struggle injected in it. He then picks his things up for the table and walks towards her, his eyes betraying nothing by avoiding hers. "Good night," he adds before walking past her and through the main aisle, disappearing into the darkness that covers the rest of the library. She hears the doors creaking open then being shut quietly, and knows that he is no longer there with her.

For some reason unknown to her, she is still standing at the same spot with her fingers still touching her lips, the lips that had been on Malfoy's own not two minutes ago. And somehow, even though she does not understand, she allows herself to be comforted by her own sobbing that echoes throughout the library.


	11. The Aftermath

**Author's Note:** Hey kids, many apologies about the delay! I just flew back to Singapore so all my time back home has been spent with friends and family, catching up and all that stuff. Been completely swamped, it's so massively crazy. :) But I'm glad to be home.

So this chapter's pretty short, mainly because whatever else that happens after this, I just wanted to put it all into one chapter together. So the next one will probably be a huge one. :) This chapter is kinda like a transition, I suppose. I wrote it so you guys will be able to understand what's going on in their heads because most chapters spend too much time on the actions and not too much on the thoughts. Well, that's my opinion anyway.

Thanks for the wonderful reviews, guys. I do agree with **veranatalie **that the kiss is pretty rushed, I felt that way too when I was writing it. But like ... I don't know. I thought it was about time that something exciting happened between the two and I don't know about you but Draco does NOT seem like the kind of guy who settles for mere hand holding or a stupid hug. If he wants it, he GETS it. That's just me though, and I apologise if any of you thought that the whole thing was simply too rushed. I can't change it though, for obvious reasons. So if you don't like that part, just blow past it and do continue reading because I'm trying my best to write a really good story here.

Okay, I'll leave you to it. Read and REVIEW PLENTY, YES?

**P.S. **(Not a FanFic-related question) I'm considering doing a Masters in Arts or Communication in UK, preferably going into Media and Culture or Journalism. I'm looking into either London or at least somewhere nearby. One of my options is UCA London's Master in Fashion and Lifestyle Journalism. Sounds kinda bimbotic but still interesting. Anybody got any suggestions, feel free to throw them my way. :) Greatly appreciated, dudes!

* * *

**Chapter Eleven:**

**The Aftermath**

On the nights he spends in the library with Granger, Draco would normally quietly slip back into his dormitory on account that of the lateness of the hour, not desiring to wake the other two boys up and have to answer Blaise's inane and outright forward questions about his whereabouts. He would normally silently get himself washed and changed swiftly then slide himself in between his satin sheets and fall straight to sleep within a quarter of an hour or so.

Yet tonight is surely not like the other nights at all. Tonight sees him swiftly walking from the library to the entrance of the Slytherin Common Room in long, large strides. He isn't panting, but his heart is beating furiously against his ribcage. His left hand is closed tightly on the books he'd brought to the library earlier that night, his knuckles white to the point of translucency from the sheer force of his grip.

He mutters the password and storms right across the empty Common Room and right to his dormitory, where he uncontrollably flings the door open and does not even flinch when the door violently slams against the wall, the loud crash echoing through the entire area. Draco merely stands at the open doorway as he watches Nott sitting up immediately in shock and Blaise lazily pulling the drapes of his bed back and covering his eyes with his dark-skinned, muscular arm.

"Shut the door, Malfoy," Blaise idly breaks the terse silence. "You've already made such a racket."

After a moment, Draco abruptly reaches out behind him to close the door, ignoring all the whispers of the now-awake Slytherins, curious about the cause of the massive crash that had woken them all up. Nott eyes Draco for a while, before falling right back on to his bed and shutting the drapes quickly. The white-blond boy then makes his way to his own bed and impudently throws his heavy books on the floor before removing his cloak and leaving the expensive overgarment, made of only the best sourced materials, in a careless pile on his books.

Washing up takes him a good half hour, with him constantly berating himself inwardly in the bath. He sits in the hot water until it turns tepid and his fingers and toes become wrinkly before giving himself one last good hard scrub, coming quite close to scratching his skin off, and walking back towards his bed with a towel wrapped tightly around the bottom half of his naked body and long, red marks down his arms and chest. He briskly changes into his sleepwear then flops on to the bed, not even worried about the bitter cold of the wintery night at the moment.

"Problem, Malfoy?" Blaise's voice wafts from across the room. Draco had thought that the boy would be asleep by now.

"How observant you are, Zabini," Draco replies snidely, unable to keep the harshness from his voice.

"No need for the hostility," Blaise smoothly counters, "I was just … concerned."

Draco lets out a vaguely amused snort, feeling marginally cheered up. "Concerned? Since when were you ever interested in something that does not involve you or your girl for the day?"

Nott stirs in his corner of the dormitory, but the other two boys blatantly ignore his thinly veiled attempt to illustrate that others are sleeping in the room with them.

"Oh, but this does involve me, Malfoy." The light tone of Blaise's serves only to irritate Draco more yet strangely at the same time, does not seem to have any effect on him. "After all, you woke me up with all that clumsy plodding around."

"Then go back to bed, Zabini." Draco can't help but feel a little petulant, which reminds him of his younger self pitching a huge fit when Father had not bought him the then newly-released toy racing broomstick when it'd first come out in stores. "Nobody's stopping you. In fact, you're the one talking the whole sodding time."

"Why," and Draco hears Blaise stir a little. "You're being positively rude, Malfoy. I'll talk to you tomorrow, when you'll be less ill-tempered than you evidently are now. Good night."

Draco looks down at his feet, and can barely make out the silhouette of Blaise's reclining body from behind the nearly opaque drapes. Then he turns his eyes back up to the ceiling of his own four-poster bed and before he drifts into some much-needed sleep, his last thought being about how the brown of the wood of his bed resembles so much like the simple brown of her damnable curls.

--

Hermione is not having a good day at all. After spending most of Saturday night sobbing alone in the library after Malfoy had run out on her and the whole of Sunday stubbornly staying in her dormitory and vacillating between inexplicable weeping fits and anxiety attacks about homework, she hasn't been able to squeeze much rest in between. And so on this Monday morning, she'd ended up sleeping through and therefore entirely missing her Advanced Potions class which, on hindsight, is probably for the best considering Malfoy is in that class as well. She'd only woken up just in time for her Advanced Muggle Studies, and is now tearing down the corridors to avoid being late.

As she hurriedly runs down the stairs to get to the first-level classroom, a sudden influx of students clamber up to their afternoon classes, sluggish from an undoubtedly heavy lunch. The unexpected wave of students push her back a little, so Hermione resorts to lowering her head and using her arms to awkwardly try to swim her way down the stairs, in between other students.

And then … he is right in front of her.

She was somehow able to sense it even before recognising that it is his expensive dragon hide shoes that are staring back at her. Slowly, she lifts her head up and bravely meets his eyes that are, as it almost always seems in public, expressionless and dull.

A moment passes between to the both of them, and they continue staring at each other even as students are pushing past them to get to class. She opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Her brain doesn't seem to be working and the only thing that she can seem to register is the fact that his eyes are changing. From the lifeless and insipid grey to the look that he would sometimes have when they were alone in the library, sharing jokes or opinions or simply having a chat.

He is about to say something; she can see him taking in a deep breath and his lips parting to form words. But this is not something that she can deal with right now. It would be too much for her, and for him. And so without even a sign of acknowledgement, she abruptly turns away and continues to shovel her way back down the stairs, leaving him standing alone in the middle of a flowing stream of students, staring at her retreating back.

Her face is a flaming red when she finally steps into the classroom and seats herself next to Ernie Macmillan, who is chatting with Terry Boot.

"Are you all right, Hermione?" Ernie concernedly asks her as he turns to her and notices her general disheveled appearance, beet red face and heaving pants. "You look like you've just run a mile."

"Y-Yeah yeah, I'm all right," she replies hastily, setting her books in such a way that they form a sort of wall, partially covering her face from the roving eyes. "Thanks," she adds as she tries to pat her wild hair down just as the booming bell sounds out, signalling the start of the afternoon classes.

--

It is half past midnight and he is sitting in the library with one singular book laid out in front of him, opened to page 458. He tries to concentrate on reading, on absorbing the information, but his mind constantly seems to wander. At every five-minute interval since he'd arrived in the library an hour ago, he cannot help but swivel around and look up at the large clock affixed to the back wall of the library behind him. And every single time he does so, he always turns back to the tome with a frown on his face.

It is one in the morning and he violently slams his book close, unable to even keep lying to himself that he is really there in the library to study. To begin with, he hardly even studies at all, his vast knowledge stemming from the innumerable hours he had spent in the expansive Malfoy family library in his younger years. So to be in the school library _studying_ is a sham that he cannot seem to bring himself to keep up with any longer. Especially when he is sitting alone, on what he has privately come to know as _the_ table.

It is half past one in the morning and he is still sitting there, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles on the table, hands clasped on his flat stomach, body languidly leaning against the back of his chair. His eyes are closed, giving the impression that he is deep in slumber. On the contrary, his mind is whirring painfully fast as he tries to sort his thoughts out.

It is not as though he is in love with her or anything as serious as that. It is just that he likes being with her, that's all. She is smart, well read, witty, on intellectual par with him, hardworking, brave, defiant at times to the point of infuriating him, beautiful in her own different way, individualistic …

In other words, his perfect match.

Draco shakes his head violently, his silvery blond hair whipping from side to side. No, it simply cannot be. If anything, he is merely attracted to her because of what he has seen her become last year. If anything, this is just a passing phase and nothing more. Moreover with the immense amount of time spent together in such close proximity, it would be natural for him to feel some sort of attraction towards her. That is what last night's kiss was about and that is all there is to it.

It is two in the morning and he is still in the same position facing the outer sidewall, staring out at the moonlight through the large window. He has been alone for the past two and a half hours and knows full well that even if he stays for another two and a half hours, she still won't come. Because he knows that much about her, that there is little to no chance of her showing up in the library the night after … that.

Then why is he even there? Why did he even go down to the library in the first place, if he had known all along that she would not be there at all?

It is half past two in the morning and only then did he take the book and leave the library, his voluminous cloak sweeping the floor silently and swiftly. He closes the door quietly, but not before stealing another glance at the other clock attached to the front wall of the library. He feels his insides give a strange lurch as he notices the lateness of the hour.

And then he makes his way back to the Slytherin dormitories alone.

--

"Harry?"

The raven-haired boy isn't asleep, even though he has been in his sleeping bag for the past hour. And now it seems that Ron has not been able to sleep either. With some difficulty, he shifts around in his sleeping bag and turns to Ron who is on his back, wide awake and looking up at the ceiling of the cave that the four had decided to sleep in earlier this evening.

"Yeah?" He whispers back.

A pause, and he can almost hear Ron collecting his thoughts. "This is it, huh?"

Harry turns to look up at the rocky ceiling as well, and thoughts of Ginny spear themselves into his head for the millionth time. Earlier in the day, Narcissa had spotted one of the remaining Death Eaters, Jugson, wandering around the area looking for food. She had stealthily followed him into a nearby clearing where the other Death Eaters were. According to her, there were bloodied bones littered all over the clearing and the Death Eaters all looked extremely exhausted. She was not able to grab a better look because, as Jugson was unable to find any food, the rest of them, in their anger and massive frustration, tortured him cruelly and left him in the middle of the clearing to look for food. Narcissa claims that they are very close by and after having spent the entire day planning, they've decided to strike tomorrow. Early in the morning, for the element of surprise.

"Jugson?" Lucius had lazily commented after Narcissa had briefed the three of them on what she saw. "I thought the Ministry had caught him after that showing in the Department of Mysteries."

"He escaped last year, dear," Narcissa had patiently explained to him. "Do you not remember him coming to our house for the meetings?"

"I don't remember vermin," was Lucius's simple reply.

Harry tries to sum all the courage he has up into his reply to Ron. "Yeah," he breathes out quietly, not wanting to wake the Malfoys up. "This is it."

"Are you scared?" Ron's question comes out in a small whisper.

With a deep breath, Harry answers honestly. "I want to see Ginny again."

"Yeah," Ron replies. "I want to see Hermione and tell her that I'm sorry. I- I shouldn't have left things like that. If anything happe-"

"Nothing will happen, Ron," Harry tries to reassure his friend. "We will grab them by the necks and then it'll be home sweet home for us."

"Yeah," Ron repeats, not sounding entirely convinced. "Home sweet home."

Harry changes the subject. "So what're you planning to do when we get back? I mean, after a whole month of this, I'm sure you miss a lot of things. Like your mum's cooking?"

"I miss Hermione," Ron steadfastly replies and closes his eyes. "When we're done, I'm going to go back and tell her what a git I am and … and that I love her."

Harry nods. "Good on you."

"Yeah, and then I'll bring her out and basically be the best boyfriend I can be. Because she deserves that. She deserves ever-"

"If you have not noticed, this is a cave. Which is bound to have echoes. Which has led me to listening in on your asinine conversation for the past five minutes. There are others sleeping in here as well so I suggest that you take your frivolous conversations outside and allow the rest of us to get some sleep," Lucius's slow sarcastic drawl interrupts Ron and rings about the cave, even though he is not even raising his voice.

Annoyance flashes across Ron's face and Harry, eager to smooth things over, quickly apologises to Lucius and tugs at Ron's sleeping bag, shaking his head when the redhead's blue eyes meet his own green ones. Understanding passes between the two best friends and Ron gives a small tight smile before turning away. "Night," Harry murmurs before turning over in his sleeping bag.

"Night." Ron's reply is the last thing Harry hears before he closes his eyes and delves into much-needed slumber, subconsciously diving into dark dreams of Ginny, Death Eaters and spilled blood.


	12. Desperation

**Author's Note:** OKAY I'M SO VERY SORRY FOR THIS IMMENSE HIATUS! It's just that things got so crazy ever since I got back, then I got a job in an advertising agency (which has been really great), then I had to apply for my Masters and everything ... I know they're not good excuses, so I really am sorry. -_- Please forgive me.

I'd left this chapter half-written for the longest time so going back to it was a bit difficult since I was no longer in the rhythm and all. So if it gets a little ... weird towards the end, I really am sorry. :(

And in asking for your forgiveness, I do still hope that you will continue to send in your lovely reviews. I just reread them the other night and it made me feel all fluttery and awesome inside. Enjoy the story and I promise (with all my heart and soul) that I will update this story more regularly ... if there ARE readers still keen on it. Might've already lost you all due to my laziness and procrastination.

Okay okay, I'll stop wallowing in self pity now. Enjoy and review, loves!

* * *

**Chapter Twelve:**

**Desperation **

Sitting in her dormitory alone with her books and parchments surrounding her feels unusually unfamiliar, even though it is something that she has done for all previous six years of study and is what she has been doing for the past two weeks. It is not that her dormitory is not conducive to studying. In fact, if anything, it is more so than anywhere else she can think of right now.

Except the library. The library wins hands down, no doubt about that. The invitingly musty smell of the old books, the thick cold air, the shelves simply enticing you to walk over and take a gander at the displayed …

Him.

She closes her eyes to try and dispel all the images of him from her mind. His white blond hair, the quirk of his eyebrows, the occasional and rare smile he bestows on her sometimes, the paleness of his skin, the strength of his grip, the fluid movements of his body. Everything about him makes her heart beat faster and no matter how long she has been with him, she still feels as though it is not enough. It always never seems enough.

Huffing a sign of exasperation, she roughly pushes away some errant curls from her face and narrows her eyes, an attempt to force herself to concentrate on nothing but the books before her. Yet she groans in utter frustration five minutes later, violently yanking her brown tresses out of its hastily tied bun and rubbing her face tiredly. Her head feels congested, what with another two heavy assignments due in the week. To make matters worse, one of the papers due is an Advance Ancient Runes one, not one of her strongest subjects.

'Damn,' she curses softly under her breath as she shuts her eyes tightly and massages the bridge of her nose. As it seems, it turns out that _that_ night in the library has affected her more than she has been willing to admit, even to herself. If only she had not lost her temper with him. If only she had not walked over to his side of the table to confront him. If only he had not kissed her. If only she had not reciprocated.

An overwhelming sense of guilt washes over her again as she replays that scene in her mind, her heart skipping beats at the memory of his soft lips on hers, his strong arms crushing her against his chest, his hands wandering up and down her back, his cool breath caressing her face like a gentle breeze …

Having been brought up by rather conservative Muggle parents, Hermione knows that should she confide in her mother about the recent events, there will only be reprimands and plenty of disapproval. And she cannot seem to bring herself to tell Ginny too, not when the redhead is so directly connected to Ron. Though she knows that Ginny would never judge her, it just feels so … wrong.

While she knows that what transpired that night is nothing worth a flogging, she still feels inextricably bound to Ron. And that is the true reason behind her self-condemnation.

Hermione sighs and slams her books close with loud thumps. Resignedly, she packs her things away and resolves to get up earlier the next morning to finish up on what she could not complete. Changing into her sleepwear, she slides between the covers and the soft bed and with a flick of her wand, mutes the lights in her dormitory. Closing her eyes, she slowly drifts off to sleep, the last image in her head being that of Draco Malfoy.

--

With a gasp, he is jerked right out of his slumber with uncharacteristic beads of sweating leaving trails down his creased brow even though the room is freezing cold. The dream, so much more vivid than any of the others he has had before, is still in his head in all its disconcerting clarity. It is strange because prior to this, he remembers little of his dreams, only vague and blurry images. Somehow with this one, he can still see every single bit of it being played out in his head. And based on his experiences, different is hardly ever a good thing.

There is blood spilled, a lot of it. There is a dense forest, a glassy pair of blue eyes and blood-curdling screams for help. There are remnants of a broken wand on the dirty grass and upon closer inspection, the grass is not stained with mud but blood. Blood that sticks on to his clothes and fingers and shoes. There is Mother, lying on the ground, unmoving.

And then inexplicably, there is Granger. Blurry images of her inserted randomly in the dream cause her presence to be so surreal yet tangible at the same time.

Frowning, he falls back down on to his expensive silk pillows, personally imported over from Asia. Zabini and Nott are still fast asleep, that much he can tell by the loud snores that erupt every few seconds or so. After some rumination, Draco decides that the best course of action right now is for him to cease this needless worrying and get some sleep. And so, he closes his eyes and tries to fall back into a rhythm of breathing.

Yet as he enters an uneasy sleep, his stomach turns over in anxiety, a feeling rather alien to him. He slowly nods off with the vague feeling that by the time tomorrow arrives, something bad might have possibly happened already. And so for a split second as he hovers between slumber and consciousness, he wishes that tomorrow would never come.

--

"Ron. Grab Jugson and go."

"Don't be a sod, Harry. I'm not leaving you."

"Damnit, Ron! JUST G-"

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Flashes of green shoot out from all corners of their tight circle, breaking the four fighters and their singular captive apart. The green-eyed boy flattens himself on to the ground, ducking from any spells cast by the enemy. From the corner of his eyes, he sees Ron flat on the ground beside him too, his large right hand closed tightly on to Jugson's worn out shirt. There is yelling and hoarse shouting and as Harry turns away and focuses on Lestrange, he loses track of just who are shouting and who are crying out in pain.

"Narcissa!"

He can hear Lucius's voice ring out in the chaos of the night and for a short moment, wonders whether Narcissa is all right. Yet he turns his attention back to Lestrange, who is running away from the battle and whipping around the numerous trees in the dense and heavy woodland. Without any hesitation at all, Harry leaps up and takes off, his footsteps following closely behind the Death Eater.

"Harry!"

Amidst all the mayhem, he can still hear Ron calling out to him. Yet he does not turn around, not wanting to lose sight of his target; the one whose growling picture had been tacked up at the top of the main board in his office. He had spent the past few months staring at the picture, looking closely at Rabastan Lestrange's insane eyes and contorted expressions. He is not about to give Lestrange up so easily now.

"Come catch me, boy!" Lestrange's singsong voice seems magnified in the thick forest as he turns back and grins at Harry while taking another sharp turn. "Catch me if you can, child!"

The raven-haired boy is suddenly taken back to more than two years ago, when he was chasing after another Lestrange in the Ministry. Rabastan's dismissive and childish tone reminds him of Bellatrix, and Harry is immediately infused with a burst of unadulterated rage. Infuriated, he quickens his pace and closes in on to the shoddy-looking Death Eater.

As he takes a turn at a particularly gnarly tree, he stops in his tracks, as Rabastan Lestrange is nowhere to be seen. Clenching his wand tightly, Harry slowly observes the surroundings. His green eyes shifts around quickly, ready to catch any sort of movement that might betray Lestrange's position.

"Stupid boy," the scratchy condescending voice of Rabastan Lestrange seems to come from all directions as Harry quickly turns on the balls of his feet, trying to catch the criminal. "You really think you can defeat me? You're just a child."

"Then come out and face me, you coward!" Harry yells back, his knuckles turning white from the sheer force of his grip on his wand. "Or are you just scared?"

A raspy chuckle follows and Harry whips to his right, certain that the patronising laughter came from that way.

"No no, boy, not scared," Lestrange replies smoothly, still an invisible presence. Somehow, Harry feels the hair on his neck stand up and instantly knows that something is not right. The calm voice continues as Harry looks around him once more, his brows furrowed in a mixture of concentration and frustration. "I'm merely … curious, that's all."

And before he knows it, the next thing Harry sees is a red light flying directly towards his face.

--

"Harry!"

Without knowing why, Ginny suddenly wakes up from her sleep with Harry's name on her lips. She sits up and stares at nothing in particular, trying to slow her heavy breathing down and organise her thoughts. Quickly, she turns to look at the other girls in her dormitory, all of whom are still fast asleep. And then she turns back to face the front, her gossamer bed drapes directly in the line of her vision.

She has half a mind to go see Hermione, to confide in the girl and tell her about the inexplicable fear that she is engulfed in right now. Knowing Hermione, she would not dismiss her worries. And no matter the lateness of the hour, Ginny knows that Hermione would still be up studying.

After some contemplating, Ginny allows herself to relax and lies back down. She will not be one of those paranoid little girls who run to their friends and complain about every single thing, no matter how trivial. And besides, it is not as though something has happened. It is just unnecessary anxiety, caused by the recent distress surrounding Harry's mission to Albania. It is probably nothing.

_Nothing, nothing, nothing._ Ginny repeats it to herself like a mantra as her eyes flutter to a close and she falls back to sleep.

--

"What's up with you again, Malfoy?"

Blaise's bored voice abruptly interrupts his thoughts, and Draco feels a burst of annoyance rush through his body, causing goose pimples to rise. Refusing to turn to look at his friend, the blond boy chooses to pick his carelessly discarded fork up again and poke at his scrambled eggs, having no appetite at all. The Great Hall is buzzing with mindless chatter that he does not care about so he chooses to tune out, thinking only about the dream he had had the night before and trying to figure out just why the blurry images in his head are lingering.

"Did you hear me, you deaf man?" Blaise's voice is starting to really get on his nerves. "God, sometimes I think you might actually be the most ignorant person in the worl-"

"I heard you," Draco replies tersely, his hand gripping the fork unnecessarily tight.

Blaise swiftly inspects Draco's raging expression with a quick glance and, rearranging his haughty features into one of careful indifference, turns around to look at the rest of the school population with a sneer while toying with his cup of sweet tea. After all that time spent with the young Malfoy, the black boy knows exactly when he should not push his luck.

Draco can see Blaise feigning disinterest at the corner of his eye but he does not bother with his friend. Instead, he continues stabbing at the leftovers of his extremely small breakfast, a result of his severe lack of appetite this morning. Every now and then, he will flash a quick peek at Granger who is sitting at the Gryffindor table with a large tome balanced in front of her and her breakfast. He is past the point of covering it up. All he wants are answers.

_Why was she in his dream?  
_

"Draco!" A boisterous voice tears into his ears like a shrill alarm, causing him to wince slightly and clench his jaw to suppress the sudden waves of vexation. He directs his full attention to the plate before him as Pansy, still in rather hopeless denial regarding his affections towards her, squeezes herself between him and Blaise and proceeds to snake her right arm into the crook of his left as she drones on about her fitful sleep.

Again, he tunes himself out, not wanting to contaminate his ears with her asinine chatter about nothing important. Sneaking another look at Granger, he notices that she has kept the thick book away and is staring straight at him too. Unconsciously, he straightens up, his eyes boring holes into hers. Of course he remembers that night, just two weeks ago. It is all he can think about – her soft curls, her tender lips, her sweet breath that warms his mouth, her gentle touch …

And as he continues to stare into her eyes, he knows without a doubt that she is thinking about that night as well. A blush is slowly spreading on her cheeks and her eyes dart away as she brushes her hair back from her face and turns to talk to the Weasley girl sitting next to her. A ripple of sadness tears through him, and it is then that he realises just how much he misses being in her company.

"Draco! What are you looking at?" The piercing voice rips into his thoughts again and this time, he makes no effort in hiding his displeasure.

"Shut up, Pansy," he cuts her off immediately as he leans away from her and quietly mutters. "I'm not in the mood."

She seems to consider his words for a moment, speculatively looking at him as thought trying to think of an appropriate reply. "Well," she hesitantly says, "do you want to talk about it?"

"What did I just say, Pans?" Draco raises his voice a little as he wrenches his arm away from her adoring grip, feeling even more infuriated by the second. He notices Blaise, and many others, turning sharply to look at them, but he ignores the gasps and lands the final blow. "Did you not understand me, you simpleton?"

Tears begin to well up in her doe-like eyes and he instantly feels a swell of repulsion. Whatever possessed him to be able to date her in their earlier school years was utterly beyond him. He can hardly stand to be alone with her for five minutes and his current state of confusion is not helping one bit.

Without even waiting to see what she will pull next, he swiftly rises and leaves the table, Blaise promptly at his side. As he steps out of the grand doors, loud sobs silence the rest of the students, causing everybody to pause in what they are doing to find out about the commotion. But not him. Not even breaking a step, Draco strides out of the Great Hall, feeling more exhausted than ever before.

--

"What was _that_?" Ginny asks Hermione in a hushed tone, not wanting to be overheard by anyone. Not that anybody is listening in on them anyway; everybody's attention is drawn towards a bawling Pansy Parkinson, who is currently being comforted by a rather embarrassed Daphne Greengrass.

"I don't know," Hermione replies from behind her open book, not wanting to look up at her friend in case her eyes betray the fact that she has got an inkling as to what had just happened.

"Looks like Malfoy dumped Parkinson," Ginny commented as she watched Daphne Greengrass slowly coaxing Pansy into drinking some pumpkin juice. "Good for him. I never saw the appeal in that little skank."

"Ginny!" Hermione turns to her friend abruptly, slightly taken aback at her choice of words.

"What?" The redhead shrugs innocently in return. "We all know that it's true."

"No, we don't! They could have all been rumours … or something," Hermione adds lamely, not really knowing how to defend the girl she has never really liked anyway.

"Oh come on, Hermione, don't be such a prude. She's a little skank and you know it. Frankly, I'm surprised at how Malfoy tolerated it before, all her flings and such."

"You mean- Pansy cheated on Dra- Malfoy during their relationship?" Hermione asks quickly, unable to hide her surprise.

Ginny looks at the brunette with a pitying smirk. "Really, you pay too much attention to your books and too little on what's really interesting in school."

Hermione turns back to her open book, not absorbing any of the runes on the pages at all. In the time she had gotten to know that blond Slytherin, he never struck her as one who would tolerate such infidelity. Then again, he never struck her as one who would tolerate the antics of Pansy Parkinson, and their relationship had lasted surprisingly long.

The bell sounds out across the Great Hall and Hermione stands up, swiftly shoving her books into her already over-packed bag. It is Advanced Arithmancy now and as she is joined by Neville and bids goodbye to Ginny at the Entrance Hall, she cannot help but feel a slight skip of a heartbeat. It's another lesson with Draco Malfoy and even though she has been successfully avoiding him over the last two weeks, today seems somehow … different. As though something big is going to happen. And that lifts her spirits up a little and brings a small spring to her step as she traipses to the Arithmancy classroom with Neville by her side.

"You seem like you're in a good mood, Hermione," Neville comments, staring at her with a small smile playing on his lips.

"It's just … a really nice morning, Neville," she replies, feeling somewhat better than she has felt in the last two weeks. "I think it is going to be a great day today."

"I hope so," he murmurs quietly as he turns away to look to the front.

--

As usual, Vector is teaching something that Draco is already fully aware of. He stares straight ahead, not seeing anybody but the brown-haired girl sitting four rows in front of him. In fact, if he shifts a little to his left, he will be able to have a clear view of the back of her head without any overgrown heads blocking him. He continues watching her head move up and down constantly, diligently taking down notes on Vector's long-winded lecture on The Platonists' Theory of Divination Through the Chaldean Method.

"Now, I wonder," Blaise's dry tone interrupting the buzzing in his head. "What could the little Muggle girl have that would appeal that much to you?"

Draco remains silent, choosing to ignore his friend. His nostrils flare a little at Zabini's rather condescending tone; the abrupt spark of irritancy taking him by surprise.

"Calm down, Malfoy," the other boy continues smoothly, "I'm not judging, I'm merely … shall we say, curious?"

"Curious about what?" Draco whispers stiffly, not desiring Vector catching them in their little tête-à-tête.

"About you, about her. About the both of you. About the reason behind your recent sullenness," Blaise replies softly with a smirk, "you know, highly unimportant things like that."

"There's no need to be sarcastic, Zabini," the blond boy responds with a quick roll of his eyes. "I understand you perfectly."

"Not saying that you don't."

Draco signs, his eyes still boring holes in her nodding head as he tries to phrase his … problem to Zabini in a succinct manner. "I …," he trails off, not really knowing how to say whatever is in his head right now. "I think … I … don't know i-"

"You like her," Blaise cuts him off swiftly, resulting in Draco quickly turning his head to face his smug friend. "I'm not as dense as most people, Malfoy, and you ought to know that."

A pause of silence as Draco tries to wrap his head around his friend's declaration. Now that it has been spoken out loud, the idea of him actually having feelings for Granger seems rather … tangible. Real. His head is suddenly filled with images of her – in the library bent over her books, the fire in her brown eyes whenever they are in one of their intellectual debates, her smiles whenever she can sense that he is putting up a front, the tears leaving trails down her flushed cheeks …

"It's not that bad," Zabini continues blithely, his eyebrows half-raised as he taps his quill against his lips. "You shouldn't have to be ashamed."

"I am not," Draco fires back rapidly and a little too loudly, inciting quick glances from those sitting near the two Slytherins.

"Then what are you waiting for, Malfoy?"

Again, Draco is at a loss for words. "I just … I don't know," he gives up, sinking a little in his chair.

"Like I said, you really ought to talk to her," his friend answers seriously, and Draco spies Zabini staring carefully at him. "After all," the flaxen-haired boy hears his friend's tone switch to one of casual indifference. "I think it's about time you lighten up a little."

--

Opening his eyes slowly, the first thing Harry registers is the cold grass poking his back. Taking a deep breath, he notices that the sky above him is rather blurry, and sighs as he blindly feels around for his old pair of glasses. Once his fingers brush across something metal, he grabs the thin frames and shoves the spectacles back on to his face. Immediately, the stars transform into more than just white blurry specks on a dark blanket.

Then he remembers.

He launches himself back up on his feet rapidly, at the same time realising that his sturdy, faithful wand is still gripped tightly in his right hand. Swiftly, he looks around, alert for any signs of Lestrange or some other Death Eater. A body crumpled into a foetal position on the ground a few yard away catches his eye and, clutching unto his wand for dear life, Harry approaches the motionless body.

A few steps later, his heart skips a beat. Though somewhat disoriented from whatever spell Lestrange had hit him with, he can still recognise the fiery red hair that belongs to the unmoving figure.

"Ron! RON!" The words break through Harry's pale lips as he runs towards his friend, lying so very still on the dewy ground. "Ron!" Harry curses as he falls to his knees and hoists the Weasley boy's upper body up unto his lap. "Oh m- HELP! SOMEBODY! HELP!" At this point in time, Harry can't care less about who is near him, whether friend or foe. He just yells for help at the top of his lungs, his brain suddenly blank. "HELP, PLEASE!"

"Harry!" The black-haired boy hears his name being called out from a distance away. Not even thinking of who that might be, he cries out, "OVER HERE! PLEASE, HELP ME! RON'S HURT! PLEASE!"

Tears stream down his face as The Boy Who Lived cries for the first time since embarking on this mission. He can now hear footsteps pattering towards him, but he does not care. His fists grabbing at Ron's shirt, it is as though a dam has broken inside him, and Harry feels as though he will never stop crying.


	13. Confrontation In The Classroom

**Author's Note: **Hey guys! Am finally back with another chapter, thank Heavens. :) Really sorry about the lack of updates, I've just been really busy with work and applying for my Masters and everything ... it's all one big mess in my head. But at least I'm done with this chapter, and I'm quite happy with it. Please do ignore all grammatical/spelling errors, I was just too eager to upload this that I just couldn't bear to wait any longer.

To all new readers, HELLO! Been getting tons of emails about new Story Alerts and Favourites and stuff, so many thanks! It's always great to know that people are still reading this dusty, cobweb-filled story. And not forgetting my old and very faithful readers, you guys are THE BEST! Love you all!

Well, you should know the drill by now right? Read ... enjoy the new chapter and most importantly ... REVIEW!

Love to all! Hope you enjoy this as much as I've enjoyed writing it. :)

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen:**

**Confrontation In The Classroom**

After a rather filling and satisfying lunch that had her and Neville discussing the usefulness of the Flame-Freezing Charm, the two of them head up to the Charms classroom, with Susan Bones joining them along the way. Her mysteriously pleasant mood that had seemed to come out of nowhere this morning still lingering, she enthusiastically participates in the easy conversation with her other two classmates. Chatting away, the three of them walk into the still-empty classroom and seat themselves at the front desk, right in front of Professor Flitwick on his usual tall stool.

The room begins to fill up as the other students file in, and the noise level begins to rise. The Professor clears his throat thrice in a thinly-veiled attempt to get everybody's attention, and Hermione chuckles at one of Neville's jokes as she removes her books and writing materials from her bag and turns around to set her satchel down on the floor behind her chair.

And just at that moment, he breezes into the classroom with Blaise Zabini at his side.

Their eyes lock for a moment, brown and light grey. Hermione can feel her heart thudding faster and faster as she continues staring at the blond, unable to look away. His eyes, though shuttered as per normal, seem to be hiding some sort of pain. And for that short moment, Hermione has never felt more compelled to comfort anybody before.

An abrupt burst of laughter shocks her back into reality and she hastily turns to the front, blushing furiously while absentmindedly smiling at Neville's latest joke. Professor Flitwick clears his throat for the last time, looking pointedly at Neville, then begins the lesson on the Fidelius Charm.

--

Draco watches as the flustered Hermione hurriedly turns back to the front, nodding at a joke she obviously did not pay any attention to. He slowly makes his way to a seat next to Zabini, once again right at the back of the classroom, and purposely ignores his friend's smirks and dramatic sighs of exasperation. Drowning out Flickwick's rather squeaky voice, he concentrates on the back of the brunette's head again, noticing how each brown lock of hair seem to weave so perfectly into each other.

His mind, so far away from the present, is constantly thinking things over, wondering what his options are. Should he talk to her or should he wait? How is he even supposed to approach her when all she has been doing in the past few weeks revolve around pretending that he does not exist?

"Here," Zabini breaks the silence with an amused whisper, sliding a folded piece of parchment over to him. "You can try this."

Frowning slightly at the uncanny timing, Draco nimbly unfolds the parchment and on it, in Blaise's elegant script, reads, "_Dear Granger, I am obsessed with you. I stare at you every day and think of you every night. Do not hex me when I say that I want you to be the mother of my offspring."_

He rolls his eyes as he crumples the bit of parchment and chucks it at an obviously tickled Zabini.

"What?" The black boy asks innocently, picking the crumpled parchment ball up and straightening it out on the table. "If you ask me, it's pure poetry."

About to retort, Draco is interrupted by Flitwick. "Mr, Malfoy, if you will," squeaked the vertically-challenged Professor, "do tell us if the Fidelius Charm will continue to work if the Secret-Keeper dies."

Sighing rather audibly, the golden-haired boy tilts his head complacently and dully rattles off the answer. "When the Secret-Keeper dies, their secret dies with them. Or in other words, the status of their secret will remain as such at the moment of their death. Everybody in whom he/she confided will continue to know the hidden information, but nobody else."

Not surprised by the perfect answer by the constantly inattentive, yet high-scoring nevertheless, student, Flitwick nods in agreement and directs his attention back to the lesson.

Turning back to Zabini, Draco continues smoothly as though there wasn't any interruption at all. "And if you consider _that _pure poetry, Zabini, then you must have extremely low literary standards."

His friend smirks back, not at all affected by the jibe. "Sometimes," Blaise sighs as he continues staring at Flitwick comically trying to reach for the chalk with his short arms before finally resorting to a Summoning Charm, "all it takes is simplicity."

Shifting his slate-grey eyes back to the front of the classroom, Draco chooses not to reply. Instead, he goes right back to staring at the back of Hermione Granger's head once again.

--

After he dismisses the class, Hermione dashes forward with some notes on an essay due the next week and spends ten minutes clarifying some of her questions with Professor Flitwick, then one minute apologising profusely for taking his time. Waving her apologies off with a smile, the short Professor packs his things with one graceful sweep of his wand and leads her out of the classroom.

They part at the stairs, as the Professor has to go down to McGonagall's first floor office while Hermione wants to go back up to her dormitory before dinner to pick her Advanced Astronomy books up. Waving goodbye to Professor Flitwick, Hermione turns to walk up, only to have her arm nearly yanked out of its socket as she is pulled into an empty classroom next to the stairs. In the seconds she takes to adjust her eyesight to the sudden darkness, she hears the door being shut and locks clicked in place. Squinting a little, she finally recognises the figure standing before her.

How can she ever not know to whom does the silken platinum shock of hair belong?

The silence between them is charged with unspoken questions and answers. After a while, her eyes get used to the dark, and she can clearly see Draco Malfoy imperiously standing before her, his eyes a stormy grey now. Eventually, she summons the courage to speak.

"What's this, Malfoy?"

Hermione is surprised at how steady her voice is, when she knows that she is shaking with anxiety and nervousness inside. She witnesses his eyes tighten at her tone and instantly regrets her faux pas, wishing that she had thought things through before speaking.

"Back to hostility, are you?" He smoothly replies, his casual expression and angry eyes producing a harsh contradiction on his slim, pale face.

She hesitates for a bit, and then responds honestly. "I didn't mean for that, I'm sorry."

It seems as though he is hesitating as well, and Hermione marvels in the moment as he appears to be struggling for words while looking down at the ground. "It's all right. I understand," was his simple and soft reply.

The brown-haired girl blows past any possible hidden meanings behind his response, turns around and walks to the other end of the classroom to set her heavy schoolbag on the only table there. He does not move a single muscle, neither does he seem as though he is about to say anything else. So she, in line with her impatience for new information and stubborn curiosity, breaks the tense stillness once more.

"So …," she trails off, not really knowing what to say now. "Malfoy?"

The use of his last name seems to wake him up, and he looks up to stares right into her eyes. She feels her heart thumping rather unevenly now and for a second, she randomly wonders if he can hear her pounding heartbeats beating so furiously in her rib cage.

"I need to talk to you, Granger."

"About what?" She asks, feeling slightly concerned.

"About us."

At his words, Hermione's heart leaps to her throat.

--

"Uh … Wh- What … What about us?"

Her soft nervous voice echoes in his ears as though she had just shouted at him. He cannot seem to see or hear anything else but her. As he continues staring at her, he fights the urge to touch her flushed cheeks and tuck that errant brown curl behind her ear.

The entire two-hours of Advanced Charms had him paying not even the slightest bit of attention to Flitwick (or Zabini, for that matter). All he could do was look at her taking down notes, answering Flitwick's questions, laughing with Bones and Longbottom, and it was during those two hours that it finally sunk in.

He really does miss her. A lot.

He misses her, damnit. Her flares of temper whenever he provokes her, her quick wit that can actually compete with his, her impatient huffs at his obstinacy which are always followed by an exasperated roll of her eyes and slight smile. Her nonstop quest to devour new information. The way she is so easy to read yet thoroughly unpredictable. The way she looks at him, not with pity or hatred but with real affection and warmth. The way her cheeks flush immediately when she is embarrassed or nervous or spitting mad. The way she held on to him that night in the library, two weeks ago. The way her gentle touch ignited such intense passion in him that he simply had to pull away, for fear of doing something he would have regretted that night. The way her lips molded themselves into his, soft and pink and … utterly perfect.

Draco takes a small step closer to her and breathes in. The scent of her shampoo wafts towards him and he closes his eyes, relishing in her familiar aroma.

Without thinking, he whispers her name out tenderly as he opens his piercing grey eyes. "Granger."

"M-Malfoy?" She whispers back after a while, evidently confused and clueless as to what he is doing.

He takes another step closer to her, closing the gap she had put between them. It comforts him to see that she has not taken a step back yet.

Another step closer. He can already see her trembling so slightly that nobody else but him would be able to notice it.

Another step. And another, and another. Finally, he is standing in front of her, close enough to notice that her long eyelashes are wet with tears. He stops in his tracks, not more than half a metre away from her.

"Don't be scared," he says lowly, his eyes roaming around her face. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"I know," she whispers so softly that he has to strain a little to hear her reply.

"Then why are you crying?"

She sniffs, rubs her nose with the back of her right hand and looks straight at him. "Because this shouldn't be happening." As he processes the words, he sees fresh tears flowing down her cheeks and this time, she makes no effort to hide them.

--

Hermione is mortified. Not only has Draco Malfoy, the one boy she has been avoiding so successfully of late, pulled her into some deserted classroom to broach a subject she is so terrified of, she is also crying incessantly in front of him and at this point, it seems as though she will not being able to stop. Despite her best efforts to choke her tears back, they just keep flowing as though they have a mind of their own, choosing to humiliate her by exposing her weak, vulnerable self. Moreover, her sudden outburst of tears is scaring her. Never before has she cried so much, let alone in front of Malfoy.

She tries to hold them back again, to no avail. They just keep flowing down her cheeks, completely unstoppable. What will he think of her? She frets about the image she must be portraying to him now, just like every other girl who cannot stop crying over nothing.

Needless to say, she is more than a little stunned when he, instead of derisively laughing at her or awkwardly clearing his throat, reaches out to wipe her tears away.

"W-What?" She finally stammers out, breaking the overwhelming tension between them.

"Hermione …" He trails off in a whisper, his stormy-grey eyes full of emotions that she cannot decipher. His thumb runs across her wet cheek, a gesture that takes her by surprise. But what took her most by surprise was he calling her by her name. Her proper name at that, not just her last.

And oh, it sounds so sweet on his lips.

"Draco," she replies softly, as fresh tears begin to prick her eyes. She just can't seem to stop.

--

He feels as though he can watch her forever. Even as she is standing there in front of him, doing nothing else but embarrassingly allowing silent tears to flow down her furiously blushing cheeks, he knows that he can just stay there and … watch her.

Brushing his right thumb against her left cheek again, he gently clasps the back of her head with the rest of his fingers. He lightly strokes the back of her left ear and inwardly marvels at the emotions coursing through him when she responds to his affection, closing her eyes and leaning slightly into his cold hand. Heat infuses him as he observes his own reaction to her soft whimper and clenches his jaw tightly, his pale lips pursed together.

Gradually, his roaming thumb caresses her full lips that part so very slightly at his touch. He runs his thumb across both her upper and lower lips, wetting the tip of it with a mixture of her tears and saliva. Resting his thumb on her bottom lip, he stares as Hermione Granger reaches up and holds his hand, as though gathering comfort from him.

Unable to control himself any longer, his other hand snakes up her neck and cups the other side of her face as he steps closer to her, their bodies nearly touching. It is then that she opens her eyes, and the fervour lighting up her brown eyes startles him. Delicately cradling her face, he steadily pulls her up towards him, thinking of nothing else but to touch those soft lips …

This kiss cannot be more different than their first. Gentle yet searing with passion, Draco chooses to begin slowly, more for her sake than his. Initially merely bumping his lips against hers, he then brings it up a notch and uses the very tip of his tongue to flick across her lips. He can feel her sweet warm breath tickling his mouth and darts in to get a little taste of her. She is trembling in his arms; he can feel every shake rattling his bones and decides to give it a rest lest anything else happens.

Feeling a short burst of pride at his commendable self-control, he rests his forehead against hers and listens to her beating heart thudding rapidly. And so he is more than a little astonished when he feels her hands moving up his back ever so mildly and coming to a stop at the back of his neck, pulling him closer to her for another kiss.

--

At the back of her mind, Hermione knows that this is wrong. This … kissing. And never mind the kissing, but Draco Malfoy!

However, it is as though her lips, her reactions, her body, they are all defying common sense. While she knows full well that she should not be here, in this classroom, kissing this boy as though her life depends on it, nothing can stop her. Each graze of his lips against hers sends a glorious shiver down her spine. Each time he caresses her face with his thumb makes her yearn for more. The gentle pressure that he is applying at the small of her back, pushing her against him, thrills her endlessly. For a moment, she panics about how he must be able to see through her inexperience as her hands still remain at the back of his neck, her arms still remain on his shoulders. And then he nibbles softly on her bottom lip, and that action alone wipes away every single fear in her mind.

"Hermione …," the blond boy whispers raggedly once their lips part and he, once again, leans his forehead against hers.

She chooses to stay silent, not really knowing what to say.

"What have you done to me, Hermione?"

The question takes her by surprise and she suddenly pulls away, only to be held in place by his large, firm hands.

"Wh-what do you mean?" She stammers softly and confusedly, eyes cast downwards. "I've done nothing."

"Precisely," he replies quietly. "You've done nothing and yet you've been the only person that I can think about."

She can hear her heart beating furiously at his admission, and opens her mouth before her brain can think of an appropriate reply. However he beats her to the punch, and continues.

"Do you have any idea how much I've missed you in the past two weeks? For you to not even acknowledge me, it's like I didn't exist. And I felt exactly like that, like …," and he takes a deep, shaky breath, "like I can't exist if you're not there."

Her lips are beginning to feel numb from the tingling that is running through her entire body. She maintains her stare at the ground, at their shoes pointed towards each other, so closely positioned. Wriggling her toes a little, she tries to think of something right to say.

At this point, he pulls back slightly and, using his finger under her chin, pushes her head up so that she can look at him. Hesitating, she allows her eyes to wander around his forehead before finally staring straight at him, and the tender expression on his face causes her heart to skip a beat.

"Do you understand me, Hermione?" He whispers, his silver-grey eyes focusing on her as though nothing in this world would ever be able to distract him. The very sight of him looking at her with such affection and adoration leaves her speechless, unable to think about anything else.

Swallowing nervously, she slowly reaches back to hold his right hand, now gently cupping her cheek. "I do."

As she said those two simple words, she knows that there is no more turning back. Beneath the surface, those two words represent her understanding and reciprocation. They acknowledge her feelings towards him, no matter how wrong it is to feel that way. Whatever it is, there is no turning back.

And not surprisingly, he understands the connotations behind her short reply as well. Watching as comprehension dawns on his glowing face, she cannot help but smile a little as he pulls her back into his arms.

--

Harry sits on the dirty ground, staring blankly at the lifeless body before him. Still caked in mud and blood and leaves sticking out of his already unkempt black hair, his right hand is gripping his wand so tightly that he can feel his nails digging painfully into his palm. In the past hour, he has taken to counting his own breaths, and vaguely wonders how many more he would have to take before the red-haired boy lying so limply in front of him would wake up.

Of course, there is also a chance that Ron Weasley might … but Harry can't even allow himself to think that way. Not while his friend is still breathing, albeit extremely weakly.

Behind him stand Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, both towering over an unconscious and bloodied Jugson. They are conversing in short whispers, and Harry is unable to really make out whatever it is that they are saying. Not that it matters much anymore.

"Harry," he hears his name reverberate across the cave, even though the speaker had used a tone just slightly louder than a whisper. "Harry, you have to let me look at your injuries."

Unable to speak, he simply shakes his head, and a leaf falls to the ground beside him.

"Harry, there's nothing you can do now," Narcissa's gentle voice rings in his ears and even though he hasn't taken his eyes off Ron's body the entire time, he can hear her graceful footfall nearing him. A soft rustle of cloth and she is sitting right next to him, her hand lightly placed over his.

He shakes his head again, blinking back tears that are threatening to fall.

"He's going to be all right. Lucius did the best he could, and the bleeding has stopped," she pauses as Harry tilts his head down, a pathetic attempt at trying to hide his tears from her. "He just needs rest right now, and so do you."

Taking a long breath, he finally speaks. "Ron … I- I can't … I can't leave him."

"Harry, you really ought to get some sleep now. We have a long morning ahead of us tomorrow, and you can't afford t-"

"I'm staying here."

He knows that she is looking at him with sadness, but cannot bear to defend his vulnerability right now, not when one of his closest friends is lying on the floor in front of him, one foot already in the grave. Not now.

Narcissa seems to understand as she does not say anything else but instead, squeezes his hand in acknowledgement of his sorrow. Unable to hold back anymore, he lets go and starts to cry. Each tear that dribbles down his face is for a different person. For Gnny, the love of his life. For Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, the couple who have always treated him like a son. For the Weasleys in general, for accepting him like a brother. For Hermione, his other best friend and confidante. For his parents, who have left him. For Dumbledore, his hero. For Lucius and Narcissa, both of whom stood by him and risked their lives for their new beliefs. For Ron, his best friend.

The woman sitting beside him then envelops him in a warm and tight hug, her motherly instincts taking over as she rocks the boy gently and allows him to cry his fears out on her shoulder. And Harry, desperate for any sort of support to help him withstand the irrepressible waves of emotions, clings on to Narcissa Malfoy as a child would to his mother.

--

Lucius Malfoy looks on at the boy clutching his wife as though she is his salvation, sobbing into her dirt-stained battle wear. While he normally scoffs at males who shed tears, this is … different. And he knows it for a fact.

This boy, Harry Potter, has been through so much more than most wizards have their entire lives. And to only break down now, when the Weasley boy is half dead, is something that even Lucius has to admit to himself as commendable. To be only eighteen and privy to such atrocities …

While he has spent his life protecting Narcissa and Draco from what they do not necessarily have to know, Harry Potter has been exposed to the cruelest of fates. Certainly, Potter's life is one that not many can survive relatively unscathed, maybe even Draco.

And so with newfound respect for the boy, Lucius turns away from the heart-wrenching sight and proceeds to cast a Full Body Bind on Jugson who, in his opinion, is quite a dumb git.

--

"Don't do that to me ever again." Draco chides Hermione after he pulls away from yet another incredible kiss.

"Do what?" Her innocent brown eyes, still slightly wet from her previous crying, stare up at his and Draco is suddenly infused with a sudden and unfamiliar burst of warmth.

"Ignore me," he replies with a small smirk. "I don't know about you, but the past two weeks have been Hell."

He gazes at her as she blushes prettily, and pulls her into a tight embrace once again. "I've had to listen to Zabini's nonsense the entire time, without any breaks inbetween. Like I said, Hell."

"You could've just not hung out with him," her voice is muffled as her face is pressed against his shoulder and he smiles at her endearingly imperious tone.

"It was either that or being alone, and I didn't think that I could stand that."

A pause, then, "oh. Right."

They stay in that embrace for some time, just listening to each other's racing heartbeats calm down and feeling the heat emanating from both their bodies. Then, she breaks the silence. "What are you thinking about right now?"

Draco looks up at the ceiling and ponders over his answer for a while before leaning back to look at her face to face.

"I'm thinking about how light I feel, and how strange and unfamiliar this pleasant feeling is. I'm thinking about how I should've done things differently, though I have no regrets, seeing as we are here and that's the most important thing. I'm thinking about how I should've spoken to you earlier, and how irrational my fears were. And … I'm thinking about you, and how badly I want to kiss you right now."

With that, he draws her in again, heart pounding against his ribcage like a drum. Never before has he ever felt this way about anybody or anything and though its unfamiliarity scares him a little, he discards that very thought as their lips meet again.


End file.
